


Forgive

by DaisyFloyd



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Adorable, Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff, Homophobia, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, I don't want to give too much information with the tags, I'm Sorry, I'm gonna cry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queen is the best, Romance, Sad, Sensitive subjects so be careful, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFloyd/pseuds/DaisyFloyd
Summary: A tragedy takes place, affecting Brian's life significantly, and Roger feels responsible for it. With all the problems this implies, their relationship's strength is put to the test.He asks for Brian's forgiveness, but Roger doesn't know if he will ever be able to forgive himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Please note that:  
> \- This work is fictional.  
> \- English is not my first language.  
> \- I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone mentioned in this story.  
> Enjoy!

As the night slowly fell over London, a cold breeze started to travel through its streets. Four men walked on them, wearing warm clothes and long scarfs. Young, joyful and visibly excited about their most recent achievement, they felt delighted when they heard a distinct cafeteria of the richest part of the city play their latest album’s first track. People sat down to have a cup of tea as _A Night at the Opera_ sounded in the background, giving the ambient a particular atmosphere. A few clients felt at ease with the waiter’s choice, and applauded him for it. Little did they know that the four musicians responsible for that album now walked past the entrance of that luxurious place.

Queen had started the recording of _A Day at the Races_ that morning, on July 1st, 1976. It had been a good day, with much progress. Roger, Freddie, John and Brian had just returned from their last tour. In opposition to what many people would think, they had come back with a strong desire to work rather than to rest. Getting so much good feedback from the audience inspired them, and now Freddie had lots of ideas, Roger was glad to contribute, John was more excited than ever and Brian was happy as well. You could say that everything was too perfect to be true. Queen was in one of its best moments, with very few creative differences between its members, and shining fellowship.

Freddie walked next to John, who shared his scarf with Roger, and at the drummer’s right was Brian, who carried his Red Special with him. Roger and Brian were holding hands, as usual. Freddie wouldn’t lose an opportunity to make a remark about why the hell they weren’t married yet, and wink while claiming he could be a wonderful godfather, and John a beautiful godmother. The two _‘love birds’_ had been dating for around six years now, and judging by how happy they were with each other, their relationship wasn’t going to end any time soon.

 _Drowse_ was the first song to be worked on for the new album. Wessex studio, in London, was perfect for recording vocals, so Roger took the microphone and did it like if he had been born knowing exactly what to do and how to do it. He had easily one of the sexiest voices of rock, as Freddie said and Brian thought. Raspy, low at times, but with strong potential to go as high as breaking glass. One of their anecdotes from the recording of _Bohemian Rhapsody_ was exactly that: John had forgotten a glass inside the recording room, and between several notes Roger intonated, it had been broken. Freddie looked at the cracks and addressed the insane acuteness of his friend’s voice, while Roger glanced at the glass with wide open eyes.

For recording backing tracks Queen preferred The Manor, a studio located in Oxford, just a few hours away from their current location. Freddie insisted to go and finish them as soon as possible, so they didn’t have to waste four hours on the road every time they needed the tracks. The band agreed to go the next day, record everything, and stay a few days in the city if needed.

Freddie hugged his bandmates and wished them a good night before leaving. John said goodbye, taking his scarf with him. Their houses were quite close, and they enjoyed walking home after work. It was one of those opportunities they had to simply goof around, leaving responsibilities and worries at the studio. That night, they had gone to a restaurant to get some pasta because Freddie was ‘ _feeling Italian',_ so now everything that was left to do for Brian and Roger was get some well-deserved rest, and maybe get a little affectionate before that.

“It’s chilling!” Roger exclaimed, taking Brian’s hand and touching his own cheek with it to demonstrate how cold his face was.

“For you, snowman.” The guitarist took off his scarf and put it around his lover’s neck, taking advantage of the situation to leave a kiss on his nose. Roger chuckled, and they continued on their way.

“Walking together like this remembers me of the good old days.”

The day he gave up his dentistry studies at the Hospital Medical College after losing his interest completely, Roger was staring at the sky from the window. He had a small flat with taxes to pay, his family was away, and now he didn’t have a career or a job. Suddenly, an idea came to his mind.

His childhood was fantastic. He spend it going to the park with his sister, investigating every plant and little insect they found, and taking wooden sticks home with them. He always had an affinity for nature. What he would enjoy as a career was far from dentistry, so he decided to enroll at East London Polytechnic and start to study Biology. Every time he read about those things Clare called _‘cheeselogs’_ in a textbook, he remembered those days and his sister’s hands.

One common day like all the others, a friend of his saw an advert at Imperial College, on the noticeboard. He mentioned this little band, _Smile,_ and suggested Roger should give it a try. He was hesitant at first, he had to study and keep track of his other responsibilities and… _who cares anyway? I have nothing to lose._

And well, after all, that decision proved to be the best decision he had ever made.

Roger met those two guys shortly after, and the taller one seemed completely mesmerized with him. He said he was the best drummer ever, and the other lad agreed. Roger gladly joined the band, and this gave him a little hope. Even though he was starting a new career and being away from his family was quite scary, everything seemed less dramatic and a bit brighter. On top of all that, this man with curly hair and too much intelligence had already caught Roger’s attention.

_Brian Harold May_

He was really talented, in everything he did. He wasn’t only a skilful guitarist, but also a great singer and composer, an art enthusiast, and almost an astrophysicist. Not to mention he was and still is the most handsome man Roger has ever met. Brian was shy, respectful, gentle and tender. There was something about him that completely enchanted Roger since the beginning, despite Roger not being conscious about it.

 _“I know we were looking for someone like Ginger Baker, but you are way better.”_ Roger remembered Brian smiling shyly, looking at him while he tuned his drums.

They quickly became friends. They got along incredibly well, and often teamed up to bother Tim, changing his music sheets and disconnecting his bass when he wasn’t attentive. He was a lot more structural and had defined likes and dislikes, while Roger and Brian liked to experiment and had affinity for classical music, and psychedelic rock.

One of the activities they enjoyed to do the most was simply discovering London, going together to as many places as they could. The drummer wasn’t born there and Brian was an absolute Londoner, so he took advantage of that to take Roger out as many times as he could and show him every detail of it. There was a big contrast between Roger’s natal city, King’s Lynn, a small port city in the East of England, and the capital of the United Kingdom. Walking there at night was especially magical, it made everything look more alive, more interesting.

“Indeed.” Brian said, bringing Roger back to reality. They were at the front door, and Roger hadn’t noticed it until he heard his lover’s voice. “I think our first kiss was in one of those nights.”

“How do you remember that?” The drummer asked, glancing up at his boyfriend.

“You don’t?” He smiled. “Irresponsible move, you should remember one of the happiest moments of my life.”

“I can’t forget it.” Roger giggled, and took his keys to open the door. “Seven years ago, New Year’s Eve. You cupped my face, and gave me the most innocent kiss ever. Asking for my permission first, of course.”

“I was being cautious.” Brian excused himself, as they both entered the house.

The guitarist left his beloved Red Special, inside its case, on the table. Roger always called the instrument _The Fireplace_ , just to bother his boyfriend. However, after a few years, Brian had become accustomed to it and even liked the nickname. His guitar was easily his greatest material possession, and he took care of it like it was his child. He hardly ever let anyone play it, but Roger was the exception to the rule.

The blond hang his coat next to the door, and found a note there. It was attached to the base of the rack. Leaving little letters here and there was something they were accustomed to do, as a demonstration of affection and a funny secret. Everyone outside of their relationship would probably think they were kind of crazy if they ever found the hundreds of notes they had left to each other.

_I could stare at your eyes forever. Your kisses are the sweetest. Your smile lights up my world._

Roger smiled to himself, looking at the note between his hands. Then, he walked up to their bedroom and leaned against the door frame. He waved the paper in the air, like if it was a prize, and smiled.

“Bri, you think I’m sweet like some kind of cheese?” Giggling through his question, Roger asked.

“Oh, you’ve found it!” Brian was blushing slightly, and his boyfriend loved that sight.

“And I’ll keep it, thanks.” Roger folded the note, and approached his bedside table to leave it in the drawer.

“But first, let me sign it.” He requested, extending his arm to reach the note.

“Why?” The drummer asked, and gave him the letter.

“So that you remember I was the one who wrote it.” Brian said, like if it was the most obvious thing ever, and took a pen to add his signature to the paper. Under it, he wrote a few words as well.

“You’re the only one that writes or says these things to me.” Roger answered in the same tone, and took back his note. When he looked down to read it again, he saw the _‘I love you’_ Brian had added, along with his signature. He grinned and looked at him once again.

“Just a little reminder.” Brian winked, and invited Roger to lie down beside him.

Roger waited until Brian fell asleep to sneakily get up. Without making any sound, he opened the door and went to the sitting room.

_The happiest moments of my life are those I spend with you, simple days doing simple things. Just cuddling and whispering sweet promises to each other, holding hands, kissing your lips, looking at your eyes, and that wonderful smile. I love you._

Roger wrote while smiling, feeling both cheesy and silly, on a little piece of white paper. His calligraphy had certainly improved a lot since he started to date Brian, maybe because now he wrote a lot more. Brian made Roger ask himself about which one was the happiest moment of his life, and he couldn’t think of a better way to answer than with one of their loving messages. He folded the paper a few times, until it was just a tiny square, and put in inside Brian’s guitar case. His lover would probably find it the next morning.

The drummer wasn’t shy at all, he was the exact opposite. He could start conversations with strangers and enjoy a night out without worrying about his looks or what the others would think about him. It was easy for him to say things out loud, and he didn’t really care about judgement, aside from his boyfriend, family and friends’ opinions. However, when it came to feelings, Roger wasn’t an outgoing lad. He would struggle to find the right words, and get really nervous. This system of little messages was way easier to use, and allowed him to say things he didn’t know if he was able to say when Brian looked at him in the eyes and held his hands. It wasn’t that he didn’t really feel them, it was just a bit intimidating.

The musician yawned and rubbed his eyes. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Lazily, Roger made his way through the dark hallway, into their bedroom. He opened the door slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible. He was barefoot, so his steps were noiseless. He closed the door behind him, and regarded their bed. His lover slept like a child, peacefully. The window was open, and the slight breeze played around with Brian’s dark curls. Roger smiled at this sight, and closed the window. He didn’t want the guitarist to catch a cold.

Slowly, he walked up to their bed and climbed on it. He couldn’t avoid the desire to caress his sweetheart’s face, so he did. He left a soft kiss on his cheek and lied down beside him. If this wasn’t heaven, it was pretty close for Roger. He took Brian’s right hand and put it above his chest, like if he wanted his boyfriend to know his heart was entirely for him. He grinned one more time, and closed his eyes.

-

When Roger woke up he was alone, but the bed was still warm. He took the white sheet and put it above his shoulders, then he walked to the door. He crossed the hallway looking for Brian, and found him in the kitchen. The same as always, two cups of tea, the sweeter one was for the drummer. Brian cut the tops out of strawberries, and put them in a glass bowl. Roger had gotten accustomed to his _‘healthy ways’_ a while ago, even though he was not vegetarian, and now ate strawberries every morning. Roger approached him in silence, and hugged him from behind. Brian left the knife on the table, turned around and glanced down searching for his favourite blue eyes.

“You look like a tiny ghost.” He chuckled, caressing Roger’s blond, untidy hair. The white cloth was still over his shoulders as a cape.

“Boo!” The drummer put it above his head, and moved his hands like if he was casting a spell. “Am I scary?”

“So scary, love.”

Roger sat down at the table and immediately took one strawberry. Today, they were going to Oxford to record in The Manor. _A Day at the Races_ was going to be successful, as Freddie affirmed and strongly believed, and they needed the best sound quality to reach that triumph. Roger glanced at his boyfriend with that _‘do we really need to go?’_ expression that every child would make to his parents before going to school.

“Don’t look at me like that, we just have to drive for three or four hours.” He cleaned the knife, and left it on the table.

“I’m too tired.” Roger yawned and stretched.

“You’re 26, you’re too young to be tired.”

The drummer got up and sat on the table. Brian, instead of lecturing him about how the table wasn’t designed for him to sit on it and whatever, saw an opportunity to make him blush and lifted Roger up from it. Roger wrapped his legs around his boyfriend’s waist, and winked mischievously.

“I like where this is going.” He caressed his lover’s dark curls. “Can we stay like this forever?”

“I would like to, but I don’t think so.” Brian kissed Roger’s forehead. “Now hurry up, Freddie wouldn’t like us to be late.”

Roger had an Alfa Romeo Alfetta, made in 1974, and it was the car that inspired him to write the song that was source of many conflicts between Freddie and him: _I’m In Love with My Car._ It was beautifully painted in silver, had a square-like bodywork, and a comfortable inside with black seats. Roger didn’t like to clean and tidy his house, but when it came to his car, he wouldn’t let a single day pass without at least cleaning its crystals. The automobile shone under the sunlight, as his owner proudly caressed its bonnet.

“I’m starting to think you’re Rog's side hoe, the second option.” Freddie whispered to Brian, who laughed in response.  

“I could go blind by just looking at this.” John said, impressed with the Alfa Romeo’s shine.

“I know, it’s so lovely.”

England’s weather was always unpredictable, probably meteorologist’s most hated country. The morning had been sunny and warm, but just an hour into their trip to Oxford, the sky had turned grey and it threatened to rain. Queen didn’t care much about this at first, they were way too busy singing along to some cassette Roger always had in his car’s glove compartment. Brian sat on the passenger’s seat in the front, while Freddie and John liked to fool around on the back seat. Roger always remembered them to put their seat belts on, because he _‘could be stupid but not irresponsible’,_ and his friends obeyed grumpily. Freddie didn’t like the feeling of the belt, and said that it was itchy.

The rain was brief at first, but it came out to be a summer thunderstorm. Roger put the radio, and an angry meteorologist said it was probably one of the strongest storms in the past few years, and his team was disappointed because they hadn’t seen it coming. Slowly, the visibility range was getting shorter and shorter, and Roger slowed down a little. He was completely confident in his ability to drive, and had no problems with a bit of water. John wasn’t particularly comfortable with it, and he was a bit nervous. He never liked the road, and jumped every now and them when he heard the thunder.

“Don’t worry Deaky, we have our fabulous driver over here, we’re as safe as can be.” Freddie said, passing his arm around John and squeezing him.

It stopped raining after a while, but this wasn’t a relief. It was replaced with dense fog, something uncommon for the season. Roger put the headlights to the maximum, but it only appeared to make everything look whiter, not helping at all.

Another car appeared through the fog, dangerously close to the silver Alfa Romeo. The driver appeared to be disoriented, and conduced his automobile in a zigzag pattern that wasn’t really safe. The movement to dodge this obstacle that Roger had to make was quite sudden, and John almost screamed.

“Daft twat, what the fuck is he doing?” The drummer said furiously, and his car horn accentuated it. He sighed, and changed his tone to a friendlier one. “Have you got your seatbelts on, laddies?”

“Yes, Roggie.” John responded.

And in less than a split second, it happened.

A truck with a not so aware conductor emerged through the fog, at the right side of the road, evidently getting off his rail and crossing the white lines that made the division clear and distinguishable. The driver was most likely asleep or plainly irresponsible, because such a giant piece of machinery should be handled with much more caution. It was way off the speed limit, and heading in diagonal to hit the Alfa Romeo’s front.

Roger, in horror, saw that the impact was inevitable, and performed a quick and agile manoeuvre to minimize it, moving the car violently to his left side. It hit the right headlight and crushed the bonnet. However, the truck’s force was too much for the rather little car and sent it to the side of the road in a fast and terrifying instant.

The windscreen broke into a million pieces that flew in the air and fell to the concrete. The number plate was ripped off and landed upright on the road, showing its domain. The four friends screamed as the car rolled over at least six times until it stopped, upside down.

The last thing Roger saw before going unconscious was blood, and the last thing he heard were Freddie’s and John’s cries for help.


	2. Chapter 2

Roger slowly opened his eyes, and it took a while until he got accustomed to the great amount of light that filled the white room. He felt weak, and didn’t know why. His head hurt, and his vision was a bit blurry. Roger started to slowly gain more and more awareness, and was able to recognize the place where he was. Looking around, he found a pair of crutches leaning against the bed he was lying on, and a cardiac monitor. It was disconnected, meaning Roger was stable and didn’t need it. He saw a second bed, empty, a few meters away. When he uncovered his legs, throwing away the white blanket, he saw his left leg was almost entirely covered in a cast. Only his toes were visible, and from his foot to his thigh the white material maintained everything in place. His arms seemed to be alright, despite having various wounds, and when he touched his head the sharp pain got more intense. He was bandaged, and a patch of his blond hair, above his right ear, was gone.

 _‘I’m alive, and in hospital’_ he concluded, and immediately recalled how he had gotten there: That same morning, his car shining under the sunlight, singing on the road with his friends, the accident, Deaky crying, and _blood_. He hissed and touched his forehead, the sharp pain still there.

“He-Hello?” Roger stuttered. “A-Anybody?”

The silence was disturbing. Roger looked at his own arms in detail, and saw bandages covering deep cuts. He touched his right cheek and found another cut, covered in a transparent substance that was meant to help it cicatrize. Those wounds were made by pieces of glass, as Roger remembered, the crystals of his beloved Alfa Romeo. He remembered the sound they had made when they broke.

“Brian?”

His voice came out as more desperate than he had initially thought it would be. He remembered the horrible noise of metal suddenly bending after the heavy impact, the fog and thunder, and the angry meteorologist on the radio. He was starting to panic, his breathing getting heavier, as he wondered where Freddie, John and Brian were. He wished this was just a terrifying nightmare, and desired to wake up cuddling with his boyfriend. This couldn’t be true, this couldn’t be reality.

Roger wasn’t going to just stay there and wait, he had to so something. _Anything_. He tried to get up slowly, placing his healthy foot on the floor first. His entire body hurt, due to the various traumas he had suffered. The floor was cold, as well as the air and the overall atmosphere of the room. He took the pair of crutches, and made his way to the door, slowly but surely. He had used crutches in the past, many years ago, when he was a clumsy child. It wasn’t the first time he had broken a bone, it wasn’t a big deal. He could handle to be stuck in a wheelchair if necessary, but he wouldn’t want Brian to have broken not even a fingernail.

When he looked at the bed once again, now from the door, he could see the paper that was on it. Written in blue letters, an elemental part of the protocol rested against the white-painted wood. It had a little pink note attached to it, hand-written, which read ‘( _wound on zygomaticus muscle was stitched by Jamie)’._ Roger took a deep breath and continued to read.

 _Medical Chart – St. Thomas Hospital_  
_Patient: Roger Meddows Taylor_  
_Age: 26 Sex: M_  
_Initial diagnosis: Closed fracture of left femur, open fracture of left tibia, minor skull fracture on parietal area, minor wounds on limbs, and wound on zygomaticus muscle (face, right side)._  
_Cause: Traffic collision_  
_Date of admission: July 2 nd, 1976._

Roger’s eyes started to water as he tried to reach the door’s handle, clumsily. He hadn’t been able to touch it yet when a petite nurse wearing giant glasses opened the door. The hallway behind her was painted in the same white tonality the rest of the hospital was submerged in. She shook her head and grinned a little, relieved to see her patient awake, conscious. The nurse appeared to be young, had big green eyes and long dark hair tied in a neat bun.

“Mr. Taylor, you shouldn’t be walking around!” She said, in her acute but comforting voice, as she reached for Roger’s arm. The door closed behind her. She assisted him, and Roger sat down on the mattress again. The nurse helped him to lie down, and covered him with the blanket almost like a mother clothing her child. “You could hurt yourself.”

 “I’m sorry, I just woke up and being alone kind of altered me.” He coughed a few times, and she approached him to check his vital signs, his breathing, and other details. Her touch was soft and kind. She wrote down her findings, none of them abnormal or worrying.

“Let me present myself. My name is Alexandra, and I’m a nurse. I’ll be taking care of you, along with our dear doctor Jamie, to get you back in shape.” She held Roger’s hand trying to be as nice as possible, and show him he wasn’t alone. “I have to ask you some protocol questions, Mr. Taylor, to check how conscious you are.” The nurse read from the medical chart, and pushed her glasses with her index finger. Definitely, the anaesthesia had lost its effect on the patient. Roger didn’t have time for protocol questions and formalities, he wanted to know about his friends and his boyfriend. And he wanted to know right now. Before the nurse could say a work, he started to ask.

“Is Brian May here? John Deacon? Freddie M-”

“Oh, you are from that band that got into a car crash today!” She realized, and smiled softly. “And you seem to be pretty conscious. Maybe we can omit the questions.” The nurse wrote a few words, pushed her glasses again, and looked at Roger. “I got good news for you. The only one with major injuries was this man with curly hair, I think he was May, the other two ones were intact. Only superficial wounds.”

Roger didn’t know how to feel. He was glad John and Freddie were okay, but Brian worried him. The concept of _‘major injuries’_ was way too broad, and it had so many meanings, none of them being positive. He couldn’t articulate words for a few seconds, his eyes travelled down to the floor. His head and his body were a mess, and he didn’t even care about his own suffering at all, as long Brian was alright. He wanted his lover to walk in the room and tell him he was okay, see him smile, and hold his hands.

“M-Major injuries?” Roger muttered, and his head still hurt like hell. He felt like someone had hit him with a brick, and moaned in pain as he touched his forehead. A few tears managed to escape, and travelled down his face.

“I need you to remain calm, Mr. Taylor.” The nurse was concerned. “I’ll explain the situation, but please _stay calm_.”

 _‘How on earth can I stay calm when I don’t even know if he is alive?'_ He thought, and immediately tried to think positively. The drummer intended to articulate an affirmation, but just a sound came out. She understood, and nodded.

“You are in St Thomas Hospital, in London. You entered around four hours ago, after an accident on the road.” She tried to sound as kind and soft as possible, not wanting Roger to panic. “Your companions are okay. May is in this same hospital.”

“I need to see him.”

“I’m afraid you can’t do that yet.” The nurse responded. “Don’t worry, aside from some broken bones and wounds, you are healthy. You’ll be discharged in no time, and will be able to visit him.”

“Which department is he in?” Roger asked, not really sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Studying medicine, more specifically, during his career in dentistry, he had seen some horrible things. Dental surgery could be quite disturbing, and in an occasion where the students had to go to the emergency room and take notes for a project, he was disrupted seeing a woman losing almost all her teeth after a car accident. If just the odontological part of it could be so horrible, Roger didn’t want to know how the rest could be.

“All I can tell you is that he is stable, and our professionals are taking care of him. I think he is with his parents at this very moment. Your parents will be here in no time. They got the news thanks to your friends…” She stopped to think for a few seconds. “… I don’t remember their names. I think they are in the waiting room. Would you like me to call them?”

“Please.”

“I’ll leave you with them for a minute.”

The nurse got up, asked her patient not to move, and exited the room. Her steps sounding on the floor, the coldness of the sheets, the great amount of light and the pain confirmed that this _wasn’t_ a nightmare. After a few minutes, the door opened again, slowly, and John and Freddie peeked in. They both had a few bandages here and there, but no broken bones. They looked like they had been crying a lot judging by their faces, and the dry blood on their clothes made Roger’s heart stop for a second. They smiled widely and hurried to hug their drummer, who screamed in agony the moment they touched him.

“Sorry!” They said almost in choir. Roger smiled and laughed, tears already streaming down his face, caused both by pain and happiness, moistening the wound on his right cheek.

“Don’t be sorry, just hug me carefully!” He said, and Freddie and John did just that. “I’m so glad you are okay.”

And at that moment, Roger realized something. It would pursue him for a long time, passing entire nights without sleeping. The drummer hugged his friends, feeling their warmth. John’s hand on his back made everything less painful, and Roger got to hide his face on Freddie’s shoulder. For a few minutes, he couldn’t think. His mind was just going back again and again to that memory, _blood._ His voice broke horribly, but he managed to speak once the hug was over.

“This is all my fault.”

“Don’t say that, you saved us, racer boy.” Freddie assured, and took his right hand. John took his left hand, and smiled. “They said it could have been worse if it wasn’t for your incredible manoeuvring.”

“I never intended anyone to get hurt.” Roger continued, sounding raspy and low, looking at his friends. His eyes were irritated, but the blue colour of his irises was as deep as always.

“It wasn’t your fault Rog, it was that truck and its stupid driver.” Deaky caressed his hand. “You truly saved us.”

“The police said that if the impact was completely frontal, which didn’t happen because you are amazing, we wouldn’t be here. None of us.”

 _'Was it really that close?_  ' Roger thought, and sighed shakily, squeezing his friends’ hands. He revived that morning. The guitarist cutting strawberries, hugging him, Brian lifting him up. Roger wrapping his legs around him. Brian’s tender giggles. Caressing his curls.

“Is Bri okay?”

Freddie glanced at John. Deaky looked to the floor, and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. Neither of them wanted to answer, but Roger was impatient and needed a response. Freddie nodded and opened his mouth multiple times without saying anything, struggling to form a phrase that wouldn’t make Roger have a panic attack.

“Please.” The drummer whispered, desperation starting to show both in his voice and in his eyes.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Freddie, if you don’t tell me in this fucking moment I swear I’ll-“He instantly snapped, but John interrupted.

“He’s in intensive care.”

Roger stayed silent, his expression suddenly changed to surprise and terror. Intense sadness hit him, but at the same time he was furious. Furious with himself. Brian was hurt, and it was his fault. And he wasn’t just hurt, he was in _intensive care_. For all Roger knew, he could be dying at that moment. He started to pant, his heartbeat got faster. John said something, but Roger couldn’t make out what it was. Freddie ran to call Alexandra, and the drummer just let his head rest against the pillow and closed his eyes.

He didn’t even realize he had passed put, until he woke up to the sound of the cardiac monitor. His blood pressure had dropped due to the stress, and to keep track of everything more securely, the doctors had decided to connect him to that machine that made an annoying beeping sound. Now he was definitely trapped inside that room, and his friends were gone.

Steps could be heard from the hallway, and a feminine voice whispered unintelligible things at the other side of the door. Roger was still a bit confused, when a short woman with blond hair entered, visibly distressed and at the verge of tears. She was followed by a tall man, with blue eyes.

“Mum?”

“My baby!”

Winifred and Michael got at each side of the bed, relieved of seeing their son, and talked too fast for him to understand. They said something about the press, being worried _to death_ , Freddie calling, Roger’s little sister crying. The nurse entered and asked them to stay calm, talk slowly, and try to comfort the patient as much as they could.

“I was so, so worried! My baby, my sweet baby boy!” Roger’s mother cried out.

“Winnie, dear, he’s alright.” Michael touched his wife’s shoulder, and smiled. He proceeded to take out a handkerchief and wipe some of her tears from her slightly pink cheeks. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Roger admired their long and loving marriage. They could have differences, between Winifred’s bubbly personality and Michael’s habitual seriousness, but they were like two pieces of a puzzle. They matched perfectly, and cared for each other. Clare and Roger were lucky to have such parents to give them a happy childhood, and support them now that they were adults.

Probably the thing that made Roger the most grateful to have them was that they accepted their son’s orientation, and relationship. They were completely supportive and approved their love, and welcomed Brian with open arms into their lives. Roger would never forget the day he came out to them, the hug they gave him, and how they called him ‘ _a_ _dummy for thinking we wouldn’t accept you, and love you like we’ve always done.’_

“We’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.” Winnie caressed his son’s cheek, after the visit was over.

“Don’t get in trouble, obey the doctors, and don’t break anything.” Michael advised as if his son was eight years old, as they exited the room.

“I love you, both.” Roger smiled lightly, and the door closed.

He was feeling a lot calmer now, so he finally let himself rest. He took a deep breath and relaxed his body. His parents had tranquilised him a lot, saying Brian was going to be okay, and that they would try to convince the doctors to let Roger visit him.

However, this calmness wasn’t there to last. The door opened violently, and an angry man looked furiously at Roger. The sudden noise made him jump, and when he glanced to see who it was, his blood froze.

“Mr. May?”

“You!”

Two male nurses tried to contain Brian’s father as he shouted and insulted Roger, and a doctor was called to try and take care of the situation. Harold’s wife, Ruth, also tried to stop him. He got dangerously close to Roger’s bed before they could restrain him. He was crying, and even though Roger knew Harold _hated and despised_ him, he felt even guiltier and helpless when he heard his desperate screams.

“You did this to my son!” He accused, as the nurses and a doctor struggled to drag him out of the room. Other patients and staff nearby stopped to listen, and one nurse almost called the police. “You make him homosexual like you, and now you almost kill him!”

They finally got to take him out. Roger couldn’t help but break down in a mess of tears.


	3. Chapter 3

Roger tapped his fingers on the surface of the tiny white table beside him. He didn’t want to eat, he couldn’t rest, and he couldn’t focus on anything besides Brian. Even though the drugs the doctors have gave him kept him a bit numb and the lack of sleep wasn’t helping, he felt like his metal processes were faster than ever. He had never been so helpless, impatient, anxious and plain desperate at the same time never before in his entire life.  

 _‘Pull yourself together’_ he told himself, throwing the sheets that covered him at one side. He sat up on the mattress. Still dizzy and a little disoriented, Roger put one foot on the floor, then the other. It was still cold, and at least being able to feel that confirmed he was conscious enough to stand up. In the last hours, he had realized how heavy his limbs could feel when being so weak.

The pain was significantly less than when he woke up after the incident, but while his body was healing, his mind was doing just the opposite. The hospital gown was uncomfortable, and his wounds were itchy. Some of them were covered with white bandages, while others were exposed and covered in a transparent substance that was intended to help them to heal faster. The cut on his cheek as well as a cut on his left arm had sutures. They would probably be removed in a week or so.

Slowly and carefully, Roger walked to the bathroom. The crutches were helpful, but his muscles had to make a great effort to use them. When he finally reached the sink, he held onto it and looked forwards. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him, with irritated eyes. His hair was tangled, the bandage no longer there. The doctors were especially concerned about that specific part of his body, fearing there could be more serious consequences, but it turned out to be fine. The heavy trauma had just provoked a linear fracture that hurt like hell, but it was just a fracture after all. No damage to internal organs, which was almost a miracle. He had been told that most skull fractures like the one he had suffered healed by themselves.

He touched his face, and the sutures. The skin around it was anesthetized, so he didn’t really feel his fingers traveling over. Roger really needed to rest, but there was no way he could close his eyes and sleep knowing that he would be able to see Brian for the first time in what felt like forever in just a few hours.

He had overheard a conversation between the nurse and the doctor. At the moment of hearing that interaction, the drummer was high on anaesthetics and couldn’t understand most of it. However, he did hear they were debating if they should let Roger visit _‘his friend that he seems to care about a lot’_ , and concluded that it would be positive for both of them. The nurse had informed Roger that he could visit Brian right after being discharged, and Roger hadn’t slept since then.

His perception of time was distorted. It was his sixth day in hospital, but it felt like he had been there for years. John visited him all the time, as well as Freddie. When he asked about Brian they told him he had gone through a _‘difficult situation’_ and they didn’t want to overwhelm Roger with the details, even though the drummer wanted to know everything he could about it. His parents also visited him, Winnie had made cookies and all, and Roger felt incredibly close to his father. More than ever before.

Some spots on his skin were dark bruises by now, but that was normal considering the situation he had been in. He was going to be discharged around nine in the morning, seeing that there were no major complications and he was ready to continue his recovery outside of the hospital. It was something good, yes, but Roger didn’t want to leave. He knew that going home without Brian wasn’t going to be easy, and it wasn’t really home without him. It was just a house, incredibly tidy and full of astronomy books.

He was thinking about a million things at the same time. A man from the police department had arrived the previous day to explain some important matters to Roger. He said that they had investigated everything by now and found out the causes of the incident. The driver had fell asleep after too many hours on the road, and now he was in critical condition in a hospital in Oxford. His chances of surviving were incredibly low, and the driver’s family had sent a letter apologizing for everything. They were good people that had been hit with a tragedy, just like Queen, so Roger couldn’t be mad at them.

He congratulated the drummer, who was surprised with this felicitation, for managing the situation so well and saving his friends from a horrible faith. He didn’t want to give details what could have happened if the impact was completely frontal, but Roger could imagine. He didn’t want to think about it.

The officer also informed Roger that he had been sued by Brian’s father, and advised he should get a lawyer as soon as possible to take care of it. His accusations were clearly outrageous and lacked foundations, going as far as arguing that Roger was drunk or high on drugs at the moment of driving, clearly not taking in account the meteorological conditions and the truck’s driver responsibility in the accident. Roger knew he was probably going to win the lawsuit without major complications. However, he wasn’t able to be angry at Harold. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have your own son hospitalized in intensive care. He understood where Mr. May was coming from, and just felt even guiltier.

Brian didn’t have a good relationship with his parents. Ruth was a little more calm and comprehensive than her husband, but that didn’t make things any less heart-breaking for their son. He had initially presented Roger as his dear friend, when they were younger and still in Smile. Ruth had even went as far as calling Roger ‘ _adorable and_ _charming’_ , but when Brian came out to them and confessed his love for the drummer, they took it all back. They called their son’s attitude ‘ _disgusting and sinful’_ , between many other unfortunate comments, and blamed it all on Roger and himself for _‘being weak and falling on his trap’._

Roger had never seen his boyfriend cry like he did that day. When Brian got back home, he remembered seeing his hands shaking and hearing his voice trembling, he wasn’t even capable of finishing a sentence. Roger couldn’t do much, aside from hugging him, leaving little kisses on his cheeks, and telling him how much he loved him, and that everything was going to be okay.

And oh man, how he wanted Brian to do the same for him right now. 

Before leaving, the officer told him he was a hero, that he shouldn’t feel bad because of all this, accidents happen every day, what really mattered was that everyone was alive and fine. He shook Roger’s hand, smiled nicely, and left. The musician didn’t feel like a hero, at all.

Roger looked at himself in the mirror once again. He couldn’t cry, and it was frustrating.

He decided to get ready to be discharged before his friends arrived. He combed his hair for the first time since the incident, and realized that the patch that was missing was almost unnoticeable under his blond locks. He could cover it easily. To dress up was a struggle, but Roger managed to do it by himself. His leg would be completely recovered in a few months. He would have to go to rehabilitation and everything, but he didn’t mind it.

He was really sorry for all the inconveniences that were going to undeniably delay the making of _A Day at the Races_ , but Freddie told him that if he said he was sorry one more time he would hit him with a brick and delay everything even more. Their health was way more important, he affirmed, and the album could wait.

Punctual as always, John knocked the door and waited for Roger’s response before entering. Freddie was with him, both of them looking healthy and almost intact. The drummer was incredibly relieved with this, seeing his two friends smiling at him as they approached the bed to help him get up.

“Good morning, Goldilocks!” Freddie greeted, offering his friend a hand. He took it and stood up, John handed him the crutches.

“Ready?” John asked, and Roger knew exactly what he meant.

“I don’t know.” He answered, sincerely, smiling briefly. He was excited to see Brian again, even though it terrified him at the same time.

“You should say yes!” The singer exclaimed, and Roger chuckled.

Alexandra, his nurse, checked his vital signs and made sure everything was okay before letting him go. The secretary was adorable and kind, and the paperwork wasn’t nearly as extensive as Roger thought it would be. Winnie had already taken care of it, like she always did. Roger smiled, as he signed for the last time. He was officially free to leave, but he wasn’t planning to do that yet. Freddie and John said they would wait for him to come back and take him home.

The director of the Intensive Care Department was called Damien Foxworth, a tall and redheaded man. He seemed nice, and had a pretty smile. He guided Roger through the hallways to a little office, saying he needed to explain some things to him before seeing his bandmate. He helped Roger to sit down on a chair, and placed a paper above the desk.

“Well, Mr. Taylor…” He was now at the other side of the desk, putting his glasses on. “…can I call you Roger?”

“Yes, of course.” Roger grinned a little. Doctor Foxworth was kind, the type of person that made you feel like you’ve known them for your entire life. The drummer was aware that this kindness wasn’t spontaneous but mandatory, but still it made him feel less alone.

“The whole hospital heard about yesterday’s…” The doctor paused to think about an adequate term. “… _episode_ , with this patient’s father.”

“I am really, really sorry.” He immediately responded, feeling ashamed. Probably the doctor had heard about Harold’s accusations of _‘making his son homosexual’_ and that made Roger even more anxious. He was afraid the doctor saw him the same way Mr. May did, as an excuse of a human being that didn’t deserve empathy. 

“This wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Foxworth said, calming the drummer down. He didn’t seem to have a problem with his patients’ sexual preferences, and that was new to Roger. He looked down, at the paper in front of him. He sighed, and put one hand over his chest. His heart pounded inside it.

“I can see Brian May means a lot to you.” He smiled. “The nurse has told me you haven’t relaxed one second since the accident.”

The drummer’s cheeks went red, and the doctor seemed to understand.

“Roger, we are not going to discuss this in a depressing note. I need you to understand that there’s hope for a recovery.” He said, as he flipped the paper. “Please, read this carefully.”

He looked at the medical chart in front of him, the name of his boyfriend written on it. The doctor was looking at Roger, waiting. He took a deep breath before starting to read.

 _Patient: Brian Harold May_  
_Age: 28 Sex: M_  
_Initial diagnosis: Haemorrhagic stroke and_

He had to stop reading. At that moment, Roger cursed himself for studying biology. The term could have been way less terrifying if he didn’t know what it meant.

He remembered doing a scan in an old man who had the same type of stroke, for his subject of Clinical Medicine. The white stain on the grey image reflected the blood inside the skull that filtered between the brain’s lobes, affecting its different areas. Roger tried to get rid of that image in his memory, but to think that Brian was in that same situation right now was simply indescribable.

“He is comatose.”

Roger muttered a weak _‘oh my God’_ , and touched his forehead involuntarily. That made him hiss in pain, the medicine already starting to lose its effect. 

“I’m not trying to overwhelm you, but we don’t know what to expect.” The doctor tried to sound as sympathetic as possible, because he knew this news weren’t good ones.

Roger knew that Brian could wake up and be deaf, blind, suffer from memory loss, or have to relearn everything, from how to walk to how to read. To recover from a coma was very rarely a complete recovery, and he felt even guiltier now. He had essentially _killed_ him, everything that he was, the opportunities he would have had. He could wake up and not know what a guitar was, he could have forgotten about his love for astrophysics, he could wake up and not know who his parents were, who Roger was. Brian could even not wake up at all.

However, he also knew how helpful loved ones were in these situations.

“I understand.” Roger sighed, leaving the paper above the table once again.

“Would you like to-”

“Please.” He answered, without even letting the doctor finish his question.

The path from the office to the Intensive Care Department was ridiculously long. The hospital was really big, and the unit of critical care was almost at the other side of it. Roger was kind of lost in his own thoughts, still dealing with the shock of finally knowing what was going on with his boyfriend, while he walked to the room 1-514.

The door’s hinges screeched when the doctor opened it, cutting through the silence of the department. He told Roger he needed to leave for a minute, and reminded him he needed to stay calm.

The drummer looked inside, and there was Brian, eyes hidden under his closed lids, lying perfectly still.

Roger entered, to sit down on a chair next to him. He pulled it a little bit closer before leaving his crutches on the floor. He regarded Brian in more detail, and noticed a translucent tube that went all the way from his nose, passed behind his ears, and ended inside a machine to help him breathe. It sounded like a whisper, and even though Roger knew he wasn’t breathing on his own, it brought a sense of calm to him. Brian looked so gentle, peaceful, like he was just sleeping. In a way he was, but he couldn’t wake up.

He had a cervical collar on, and the cardiac monitor made that constant beeping sound that usually made Roger uneasy. However, he was more than relieved of hearing it now. Part of Brian’s hair was gone, at the back of his head. He smiled softly, knowing he would probably be more worried about losing his hair than his actual injury.

Roger moved a few dark curls away from his face with extreme carefulness, even though he knew Brian was unable to feel anything. He caressed his right cheek softly, feeling his skin, and not touching the tube that kept him breathing. Then, he searched for his right hand to hold it. It was just as cold as the hospital’s floor.

“Hi, sweetie.” He muttered, and couple tears travelled down his face. He didn’t make a single sound that gave it away. If Brian could hear him, he didn’t want him to worry. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

Roger breathed deeply, and looked at a paper on the table beside him. It had _‘condition’_ as a title. He took it without letting go of Brian’s hand, and read it. He found out that Brian had undergone an emergency brain surgery as soon as he entered the hospital, and that the coma was initially induced by the doctors but now they couldn’t take him out of it. They had knowledge of which lobes were affected, but they wouldn’t know the extent of the damage until Brian woke up. The musician left the paper on its place.

“I promise I’ll be with you.” His voice was starting to break, and he cursed himself because of it.

Roger caressed his boyfriend’s hand, and looked at his face. The thought of never hearing him talk again, never seeing him smile again, he just couldn’t handle it. He had to stay positive, Brian needed someone to be strong for him. Someone to talk to him, read to him, just to be there. If Roger was having a bad time, he couldn’t imagine what Brian was going through, what his parents were going through. There was no way he could do this alone.

“It doesn’t matter how long the waiting is, I won’t leave.”

Six years were too much to let go of. They had shared so many things, so many memories. Those had been the best years of their lives, without a doubt. So many days playing, so many nights cuddling. So many kisses, so many smiles, so many laughs. Roger couldn’t and wouldn’t let him go.

“You better hear this Bri, because you’re not getting rid of Goldilocks.”

Roger wiped his own tears, and involuntarily sobbed. He squeezed Brian’s hand, and it was devastating to not get back any reaction. He intertwined their fingers just like Brian did so many times in the past, and he hoped that somehow that was going to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“I hope you can forgive me.”

 _‘Pull yourself together’_ he told himself for the second time that day, as he touched his own forehead again. He wished it had been him, not Brian, to suffer this. It wasn’t fair. Nothing in this entire situation was fair. Roger had taken this beautiful person away from so many people, and he genuinely thought he deserved all the pain he was going through and even worse for causing this. He sighed, grinned slightly, and said just a phrase.

“I love you, with all my heart.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Come on darling, you can visit him tomorrow.”

Roger refused to let go of Brian’s hand, and Freddie didn’t know what to say to convince him that it was time to leave. He couldn’t blame Roger, to go home without the guitarist was leaving his beloved partner, almost a part of himself, in a cold hospital. John leaned against the wall, and sighed. He understood how difficult it was for him, but the visit had to be over in less than ten minutes and Freddie had spent half an hour trying to talk Roger into leaving voluntarily, without succeeding.

“Do you really think he is going to be okay?” The drummer asked quietly, doubting again. If he had done this to his boyfriend, he had to stay with him, or at least he thought so. He couldn’t leave like that, there were too many possibilities of something bad happening and Roger would feel awful if Brian needed him and found that he wasn’t at his side.

“He has many doctors and nurses to take care of him.” John tried to help, and Roger knew he had to give in at some point, whether he liked it or not. The bassist approached his friend, and put his hand over Roger’s shoulder. “He’ll be here, waiting for you.”

“I don’t want to go.” He repeated for the eleventh time, blue eyes watching his lover’s face. They shone under the white lights, and that made even more evident that he was staring to tear up.

“Don’t cry, dear.” Freddie said, caressing his blond hair. “You’ll see Brian again before you can even begin to miss him.”

“I feel like I’m abandoning him.” Roger confessed, softly kissing the back of his boyfriend’s and releasing it. He whispered a _‘see you later, love’_ , that John heard. Deaky smiled at what Freddie called _‘Goldilocks’ selective cuteness’._

“You aren’t abandoning him, he’ll be fine.” Freddie offered Roger some help, and he finally got up from the chair beside the bed, to walk towards the door after a long visit.

“You can look for some books to read to him tomorrow, I’ll help you to select them if you like.” John proposed kindly. Roger looked back for a moment, before Freddie closed the door. He hoped to remember the path he had to follow to get to room 1-514 without asking too many times.

They left the hospital, and Roger was faced with fresh air for the first time since July the 2nd. It wasn’t as liberating as he thought it would be, because his boyfriend wasn’t at his side to make some comment about how his blond hair looked as the wind played with it. The walk from the hospital’s entrance to John’s car was long for Roger, but the moment Freddie opened its door and invited him to get inside, he remembered their trip to Oxford and decided he wasn’t going to go in there.

“No.” Roger said without hesitating, turning away from the automobile and looking at the direction he had to follow to get home.

“Oh, come on, it’s not-“Freddie tried to convince him to do something for the second time that day, admirably enough, and obviously he was going to fail. To get Roger to obey two times in a row was something that simply wasn’t going to happen now, or ever.

“And I’m not driving for the rest of my life, either.” Roger walked past the car. He headed towards the south and didn’t look back, but expected his friends to follow him.

“Where are you going?” John asked, as Freddie touched his own forehead with his hand and cursed Roger’s stubbornness under his breath.

“Home. I can walk.” He pointed at his healthy leg.

“No, Roger.” Freddie didn’t like his idea, and sounded like a complaining mother. “The press may be around and-“

“You’re too slow!” Roger giggled, already a few steps ahead, walking away.

John glanced at Freddie, and smiled. He understood that there was no other option than to follow the disobedient kid, so they did. They were lucky his home wasn’t that far, and they could avoid unpleasant surprises like hungry journalists by taking the little paths between buildings instead of the main streets. When they arrived Roger was tired, but for him it was better to be tired than recalling those memories.

His friends helped him to go up the three steps in front of the entrance door. The moment he touched the handle and started to look for his keys inside his pocket, he noticed how much he needed to get some sleep.

“Thanks, chaps.”

“You want us to stay?” John asked, seeing Roger trying to open the door. “We can play some Scrabble or try to entertain you to get your mind out of all this for a moment.”

“No, thanks, it’s fine.” Roger sighed, and turned the key inside the lock. “I just need some time to think, you know.”

“Sure you’ll be alright?” Freddie inquired one more time just to make sure, and Roger nodded lazily as he answered.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Remember, you can call us and we’ll be here in no more than two minutes.” The singer guaranteed and poked John’s arm. Deaky smiled, agreeing with Freddie.

“I’m home, lov-” He pushed the door and instantly noticed that Brian wasn’t there, so it wasn’t necessary to inform his presence. John and Freddie hugged him, and Roger hurried to apologize. “Sorry, it’s the tradition.”

“He’ll be back soon, Roggie.” John smiled softly.

“I hope so.”

The first thing Roger noticed when he entered his house was that on the floor a few letters were lying. Probably the postman had slid them under the door when he didn’t find a mailbox outside. Picking them up proved to be a pretty difficult task for Roger, but he managed to do it without hurting himself, and sat down on the sofa. In front of him, a single cup of cold tea rested on the coffee table. He had forgotten it there sometime before their trip to Oxford, and Brian hadn’t noticed it.

The first letter was closed with a beautiful red wax seal, with a figure that was a little unclear and Roger couldn’t recognise. It was addressed to him, and he recognized the logo when he saw that the remittent was Alfa Romeo Automobiles. He looked at the letter in confusion, before opening it carefully. Apparently, the owner and his employees were admirers of Queen and their favourite song was _I’m In Love with My Car,_ they were really sorry about what happened, and they offered Roger a new automobile without paying a single penny as a thank you for choosing their company. Too bad Roger wasn’t planning to touch a steering wheel ever again.

The second one was a judicial notification. Roger wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t in the mood for thinking about facing Harold May in court, and he was never going to be. He left the letter on the table without opening it, along with the other one.

 _The Fireplace_ , still on its case, rested at the same place Brian had left it one week ago. A thin layer of dust covered the black case already. Roger didn’t even touch it, it would wait for its owner until he was healthy enough to play it, and the drummer was afraid that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He would probably have to clean the dust off it before Brian came home, and it didn’t bother him, as long as Brian _did_ come back _._

He wanted to keep his mind blank for just a minute, but everything in the house was somehow related to the guitarist, his stupid smile and his long hair. From his key chain from Japan hanging next to the entrance door, to his perfectly folded shirt that was forgotten at the bathroom. The image on his bedside table depicting the two on their second anniversary, and the brush he always used for his uncontrollable hair. Having photos everywhere wasn’t helping, either. On top of all that, his birthday was right around the corner, and Roger had already planned out what to give him. He had to put the never given present inside his drawer and close it to avoid that empty sentiment that it evoked.

Roger never liked silence. As he didn’t want to turn on the television, afraid of seeing something car-crash related, he took one of his favourite vinyls and let it play in the background. The Beatles always made him feel better, but The Beatles was also Brian’s favourite band, so Roger felt bad either way.

Going to sleep was particularly difficult. The bed was way bigger than Roger remembered, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he had spent the last nights in a tiny hospital bed or because Brian wasn’t lying there expecting to snuggle before sleeping.

The couple almost never slept separated. When they stayed in hotels while on tour, they always requested a room with one bed. If they had two separated beds, they would turn the bedroom upside down to put them together. Roger smiled remembering their last tour, which had finished just a three months ago, and the last night in their hotel in Australia. They had had a good time playing around with pillows and showing their love for each other quietly, so Freddie and John wouldn’t hear while they were trying to sleep in the other room.

After a few hours of just lying there hugging Brian’s pillow, he tried to think just about the good times. He imagined Brian was there, sleeping peacefully, quiet as always. Then, Roger finally could fall asleep.

-

He was reading aloud for his lover. Roger had brought his boyfriend’s favourite fantasy book, written by an unpopular author, as he thought Brian would probably like to hear the story now. He wasn’t completely sure he could actually hear, but the doctor said that Brian’s temporal lobes were almost intact, so there was a chance. Roger had been through his old psychology books last night to refresh his memory about the subject, and apparently Brian’s ability to learn, his musical awareness, his feelings and his hearing were alright. They hadn’t lost their talented musician.

Roger finished reading the chapter and glanced at Brian, but he didn’t find anything different. Closed eyes, curls in the same place, no smile. He took his hand, closed his eyes, remembered how much Brian loved to listen to his voice, and softly started to sing one of the songs of their new album. He had no idea when the world was going to be able to listen to _Somebody to Love_ , but for now, the privilege was only for his sleeping prince.

_“Each morning I get up I die a little, can barely stand on my feet…”_

A woman in the hallway could listen to Roger’s voice, even though he was careful and kept it down. She was trying not to make any sound, and her shoes almost betrayed her when she walked towards the door and put her hand above the wood.

_“Take a look in the mirror, and cry…”_

She stood there, listening for a while. She thought Roger’s voice was beautiful, and he sang pretty well. After a few minutes, she pushed the door slightly, and it opened with a chirp. The young musician opened his eyes and looked towards the entrance, and there he saw Ruth May standing with a toothless smile and tears in her eyes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I was about to leave.” Roger hurried to get up, taking his crutches, supposing that Harold was going to show up behind her. He didn’t need more broken bones, and he didn’t want his lover to listen to an argument while he was in this state. “The nurse didn’t tell me Brian had visi-“

“No, please, stay.” She asked, and invited him to sit down again.

A few minutes passed in silence. Ruth contemplated her son with endless love, a motherly glance. She didn’t seem to be bothered with Roger’s presence, which was really strange. It was also strange to see her alone, without her husband. The drummer wondered why Harold wasn’t with her, but he was glad he didn’t show up. Roger was thinking about what to say, how to put his words in the correct order, how to sound as nice as possible, and after some doubting he finally had the courage to speak.

“Mrs May, words can’t express how sorry I am for everything that happened.” He tried to avoid eye contact to not get even more nervous. She seemed impressed by his words, and smiled sincerely.

“Harold is really hurt by all this, and it’s only natural that he blames it on you.” She explained, and the drummer remained silent. “But that doesn’t make any of his accusations valid.”

She didn’t agree with him, and that relieved the musician.

Roger remembered when Brian presented him to his parents. It was a warm summer night in 1968. He had gone to have supper with them, and Mrs May had made one of her specialities. Harold and Ruth seemed to really like Roger, his energy and his spontaneity, and the fact that he also was into music. Brian was an only child, so for the first year, the drummer was like a little brother to his parent’s eyes. They were more than happy when the two moved together, and even motivated them to go on with their musical projects. Roger had conserved a good image and got along well with them, until Brian’s confession.

“Thank you, Mrs May.”

“You can call me Ruth.”

The nurse entered the room and greeted them. She was holding a paper that had a rather interesting title: _‘Glasgow Coma Scale’_. Roger had heard about this before the accident, and it was a recent implementation to the medical world. The scale was a simple way of measuring how deep a coma was and the patient’s possibilities of a successful recovery, evaluating verbal, motor, and eye responses to different stimuli. Brian had undergone this test every day since he entered the comatose state the doctors couldn’t get him out of.

“We’re going to do a little test.” She announced. “You can stay if you like.” Roger nodded in response and Ruth muttered a _‘thank you’_ , as the nurse took her pen. “Have you seen him move, open his eyes, make any sound?”

Roger wished he had, but he had to say no. The nurse wrote his response down. Brian’s results weren’t getting any better. He was still in the category of _unresponsive,_ after nine days. That was closer to the section of _deep coma_ than to _responsive_. It broke his boyfriend’s heart to see the score unchanged, and when the nurse showed them the results, he was trying really hard to fight back the tears. He didn’t want to cry, not there, not while Ruth was watching him. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, eventually gaining control over his emotions again.

However, Ruth could tell what he was feeling. She felt the same, if not worse. She could recall having her baby between her arms, singing him to sleep for so many nights. Brian had always had a light sleep when he was little, and Ruth wished he could be woken up so easily now. She preferred to die herself than to lose her son, and Harold could say the same. 

The accident had made Ruth realize how much time they had lost by not accepting Brian’s orientation, and his relationship. They had wasted so many precious hours punishing Brian for something he couldn’t change, and now they weren’t sure if there was a possibility to make up for them in the future. She could see in Roger’s eyes that he was just as desperate as they were, she could see his feelings. She could see how he held her son’s hand and she had heard him gently singing for him just a few minutes ago. Ruth had seen so many little demonstrations of how much Roger loved Brian over the past years, but she had decided to see them as _disgusting_ rather than to see them as what they truly were: _love._

“I’ve been thinking a lot about this.” She said, once the nurse was gone, and looked at Roger. He hadn’t a clue about what she was about to say, and it made him uneasy. She sighed and waited a few seconds before continuing. “I regret rejecting Brian when he was sincere with us and confessed his… preferences.”

Roger was simply astonished, his eyes opened wide. Those were probably the last words he expected her to say, and he hoped Brian could hear them.

“You aren’t a bad person Roger, you never were.” Ruth appreciated his visits to her son, and truly believed he wasn’t a bad influence, as Harold thought. She was still coming to terms with her son’s orientation, but she could understand everything a bit better now. She giggled. “I still think you’re quite charming.”

The musician chuckled in response.

“It seems that you really care about him.”

“I love him.” His cheeks flushed the moment he realized what he had said, and immediately released Brian’s hand. He couldn’t help but stutter, trying to justify it. “I mean- I- Well- ehm…”

“I know.”

It was a good visit. They didn’t talk too much, but it was a giant step towards a better comprehension between Brian’s family and Roger. It was sad that such a horrible event had to take place for them to notice they had to accept their son as he was, but something was better than nothing.

When Brian cried for his parent’s rejection, Roger held him and promised that someday, sometime, they would realize how wrong they were. It looked like he was right, and slowly but surely, they were accepting him. Or at least Ruth was doing so.

Maybe one day, they’ll have dinner together again.


	5. Chapter 5

Roger felt more and more concerned with every passing day. He wished that Brian would just wake up and turn everything back to their normal routine: Work on their album as usual, spend the day at the studio, and go back home and cuddle together watching some silly movie. He knew this was simply impossible, and the uncertain nature of his lover’s condition was messing too much with his feelings and his mind.

For Brian it was day twelve in comatose state already. Today was the 14th of July, and his birthday was close. Roger always organized something without him knowing to surprise his lover in some original ways. Last year, he had convinced John and Freddie to help him and make a giant cake. Obviously, Winnie had assisted too, because otherwise it would had been a complete disaster. It turned out to be a Red Special-shaped delicious dessert, and Brian was fascinated with it. He said it was too pretty to be eaten. The majority of the credit should have been for John and Winnie, who did the majority of the work while Freddie and Roger tried to figure out how to even get the frosting right, but they let Roger have it. He was the one who had come up with the idea, anyway.

Their birthdays were exactly one week apart, Brian’s one being the 19th and Roger in the 26th. They would always compete to see who came up with the best surprise, but normally it ended in a technical draw. Their ideas were really different, so there was no point of comparison to measure who was better. Brian was more adept to go somewhere fancy while Roger could wake his lover up throwing confetti everywhere. At the end, both surprises were pleasant, as long as Roger promised to sweep the floor after.

Freddie and John were peacefully walking to Roger’s house to pick him up and take him to the hospital for today’s visit. He couldn’t get there by himself yet because of his fear to cars and the crutches he had to use, so he needed a little help, and his friends wouldn’t deny that assistance to him. The band members were used to look around every now and then while they were in public, just to make sure nobody was following them or taking photos without their permission. However, that day they had forgotten about it. With so many things to think about, Freddie and John didn’t check their surroundings for journalists before knocking Roger’s door. That proved to be a huge mistake.

As soon as the drummer walked out, the three friends were surrounded by the press. Cameras here and there, flashing lights, and too many questions being asked at the same time. If they had approached the band at another time, another way, they would have gladly responded. It wasn’t the nicest way to get an interview, especially knowing what difficult times they were going through. Roger tried to smile and be calm about it, he didn’t mind to give a few answers as long as they weren't too personal and he could get rid of this situation soon. However, in the middle of the confusion, a man holding a microphone and claiming to be broadcasting live for a news channel went a little too far.

“Did you kill Brian May?”

When he heard those words, Roger could barely control himself and supress the strong desire he felt to hit the journalist’s head against the wall. The insolence in such a morbid question caused him to have a nervous breakdown instead. He closed his fists strongly, almost harming the palms of his hands with his fingernails, and couldn’t avoid a few tears escaping his eyes. Feeling so vulnerable in front of all those people made him even more furious. John and Freddie managed to get him inside the house once again, and closed the door before the press could enter.

His face was red, and his breathing was getting heavier between his uncontrollable sobbing. John got him to sit down, and tried to calm him talking gently and kindly, but nothing seemed to work. Freddie was so distressed by the situation that his eyes were watering too. Roger covered his face with his hands, and his two friends hugged him trying to bring him a little comfort. That didn’t seem to work, either. Roger pushed them away, and with a trembling voice asked a heartrending question.

“Do you think I did that to Brian?”

“No!” Freddie hurried to answer. “Roger, please don’t listen to them, they don’t know what they’re talking about!”

“This isn’t your fault.” John repeated, in desperation. Roger wasn’t buying it, it was just a big lie to him. If he had reacted earlier, if he had avoided the truck, if he had turned the steering wheel just a centimetre more to the left, Brian wouldn’t be stuck in between life and death. If they hadn’t left the house that day, if they had stayed and recorded those fucking vocals in London, everything would be different. But this was the reality they had to face, and there was no way of going back and change the events that led to it.

“Then why do I feel so damn guilty?” He raised his voice and covered his face again, both ashamed and in pain. It didn’t matter how much his friends and relatives tried to convince him, he was an horrible man for the rest of the world. He was responsible for the accident, and responsible for its consequences.

“It’s okay, Roger.” Freddie put one hand above his shoulder, and the drummer looked up and frowned.

“No, it isn’t okay.” He was practically shouting at this point, and that in combination with his voice breaking just made his hurting heart more evident. “Brian is stuck in hospital because of me, I have hurt the most beautiful person out there, and it could have been avoided.”

John tried to speak, but Roger cut him off.

“You have no idea how difficult it is to enter this fucking house and see him everywhere, when he’s not there. There’s his guitar, there’s his clothes, and the photos, and his perfume, and it’s driving me _insane_.”

“He is still alive.” The bassist reminded Roger.

“It’s been almost two weeks, John.” He answered. “Do you have any idea of how much his chances of waking up drop after the fourteenth day?”

Freddie and John looked at each other, trying to think about a solution. Now John was tearing up too, and they weren’t sure if there _was_ a solution after all. There was a possibility of the worst happening, and none of them knew how they were going to take it. These could be Queen’s last days, their friend’s last days, they didn’t even know what would happen if Brian didn’t woke up and Ruth and Harold decided that it was better to let their son rest.

After a few minutes of silence, Roger was starting to calm down. His breathing was going back to normal, and his tears were drying on his skin. John and Freddie felt relieved, and just squeezed him in a loving hug for the second time.

“I’m sorry for losing it like that.” He apologized. “I just miss him so much.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Goldilocks.” Freddie smiled. “We miss him, too.”

“I’m not strong enough to take all this.” Roger sighed and held his friends more tightly. It gave him a sense of security, like if for one second he truly believed that everything was going to be alright. They always hugged like that after their concerts, but Brian was missing. He would always wrap his long arms around his three friends and giggle sweetly. 

“Don’t lie to yourself, you are stronger than you think.” Deaky grinned as well, and Roger wanted to believe his words. He saw himself as weak, but the truth was that he was _still_ there. He had gotten up every time after being hit with reality, and he had managed to stay at Brian’s side. He wasn't weak, after all. 

“We really need the rational mind here.” Roger chuckled, eluding Brian’s reasoning attitude and his ability to remain in composure even in the hardest of times. The other three band members were always a lot more emotional.

“We do.” John recognised, and laughed as well.

“He’ll be back.” The singer reassured, and used his hands to tousle his friends’ hair.

“Do you really think so?” Roger asked, hesitating mildly.

“I strongly believe it.” Freddie didn’t doubt to answer, and also didn’t broke the hug. He did just the opposite, and the drummer felt like he was trying to asphyxiate them with kindness.

“So do I.” John agreed, and Roger smiled.

-

“How are you today, love?”

The doctors were more than surprised of how fast Roger’s wounds were healing. They had removed the stitches from his face and right leg, and they said that his bones were also doing incredibly well. The cast would be removed in less than a month, at this pace. John and Freddie wanted to celebrate these good news, but Roger had declined the offer. He wouldn’t miss his daily visit to Brian, no matter what.

“You look wonderful, as always.” The drummer said, not missing the opportunity to caress Brian’s skin. He was still on assisted breathing, so Roger was careful not to touch the little transparent tube that kept him safe when he touched his cheeks.

He opened today’s book, titled _The Large Scale Structure of Space-Time_. The guitarist had started to read it before the accident and didn’t have the opportunity to finish it, so Roger thought it would be a good idea to help him. Brian was probably intrigued about its continuation, and the reader could learn one thing or two about one of his lover’s biggest passions.

Brian always taught Roger things about space, and it made him realise how little he really comprehended about the universe. Sitting on the ground, under the moonlight, Brian would start rambling about how Roger’s eyes remembered him of stars, and somehow he would find a scientific explanation related with stardust and chemicals to back up his theory that assured Roger's eyes were actually made out of ancient stars, and that's why they were so beautiful. 

This was most definitely not Roger’s subject, but he could compensate by teaching Brian to recognise birds with his eyes closed based on how they sounded. The guitarist never got the hand of it and could barely differentiate a barn owl from a tawny owl, but it was good fun for Roger to watch him try.

The clock made an obnoxious sound, and remembered Roger that his visit had to be over soon. He looked at the calendar hanging on the wall: 16th of July. The drummer could swear they had been the longest and most painful two weeks of his entire life. Not the physical, but the emotional pain was accentuated every minute. 

Roger had shared visits with Ruth. She actually liked to hear him sing to Brian, and even though the drummer was extremely ashamed of doing it in front of her, he did. They were starting to form a bond, a bond that Harold couldn’t and shouldn’t have knowledge of. His wife didn’t know exactly how he would react, and she didn’t want to find out. Neither did Roger.

“Almost two weeks, baby.” He sighed, and caressed his fingers sweetly. “Please don’t take so long, you are really worrying me.”

He glanced up at Brian’s face once again, end every time he did so, he was stunned by how handsome he was. They had taken his cervical collar off, and now his boyfriend could appreciate the fine line of his jaw framed by his curls. Sometimes he honestly couldn’t tell why the hell Brian had chosen him. Roger was rather short and had chubby cheeks, while Brian was always tall and thin. The guitarist could just blink and have a long line of wonderful women just for him, or he could also have any man he wanted. He always said that he was in love with Roger because he was _Roger_ , with everything that it implied. His stubbornness and blue eyes included.

“Your birthday is coming, and I have a perfect gift for you.” He said while smiling, and wondering if his lover could hear him. “I won’t tell you what it is, you’ll have to find out for yourself, but I can tell you that you’ll have a hard time trying to beat my surprise. I’ll win this year, sweetheart.”

He could imagine what Brian would say. He would roll his eyes and make a sarcastic comment, while claiming his surprise was better. Roger continued smiling widely, with that imaginary reaction in mind.

“I miss your eyes... God, I sound so cheesy. You’re probably laughing at me now.”

That’s why Freddie said ‘ _Goldilocks’ cuteness is selective_ ’. It took the right time, right situation and right mood for Roger to make those types of comments. Otherwise, he wouldn’t. He didn’t like to appear vulnerable when others could see, and the only other type of situation when he’ll say cheesy things was when he was alone with Brian. He could be as silly as he wanted without being judged because of it, and the guitarist liked it, indeed.

“I really hope you can forgive me.”

Roger hadn’t forgotten the journalist’s words, and they burnt in his memory. He was probably going to appear in all newspapers the next day for having an emotional breakdown in front of the cameras. Sure they would use that to say he was a violent, heartless, despicable person, who almost hit an innocent man doing his work because he accidentally asked some unfortunate question on the way. _Accidentally_ , or maybe not. To have an interesting title for the day’s article was way more important than Roger’s feelings, of course. 

“I understand if you can’t.”

He sighed. He couldn't even think about his boyfriend not wanting him anymore without feeling pain in his chest.

Roger looked down, holding Brian’s right hand. His heartbeat started to increase, as he felt a little pressure on it. Brian seemed to be tightening his lover’s fingers. The drummer opened his eyes widely, almost thinking he was hallucinating out of desperation, but when he felt the pressure increasing and saw Brian’s fist slowly closing to take Roger's hand he realized that it was real.

“Brian?”

Roger intertwined their fingers and confirmed his suspicions. His boyfriend was, for the first time in so long, truly holding his hand. He could feel it, it was weak but it was there. Roger started to chuckle happily, and hurried to notify the nurse about his discovery.

 


	6. Chapter 6

During the first twelve days of his internment, Brian had the lowest score possible in all different evaluations to test his consciousness. He showed no eye response, no verbal response, and no motor response to any stimuli. That, according to the doctors, was a clear signal of serious brain damage. He fell into the category of _comatose and unresponsive_ , but now there was a possibility that he was waking up. Roger hurried through the hallways trying to find the nurse that took care of his boyfriend, and inform her about what he had just discovered. When he found her, she accompanied him into the room to do the test with the Glasgow Scale for a second time that day.

Roger had become quite a celebrity for the hospital’s staff, not because he belonged to a rock band, but because of what he did for Brian. He would be the first visitor to enter Intensive Care in the morning, and the last to leave when the visiting hours were over. He would read, sing, talk to Brian, and even sneakily get his acoustic guitar into the room to quietly play for the patient that probably had the most attention in the entire unit. Relatives of other patients wouldn’t bother to take care of them. The doctors had grown to like Roger, and they used to look forward to his arrival every day. He made the depressing situation of having a patient in coma a less tragic thing for both Ruth and the doctors, and he truly had hope, even though his hopes weren’t precisely high. For the medical staff, he was a breath of fresh air between many sad families who couldn’t hide their sorrow. Roger preferred to let his sadness out when he was alone at home.

The nurse took Brian’s hand, under Roger’s attentive gaze, and pressed the base of his fingernails. It was an easy way to look for some kind of reflex, some response to the pressure. The patient remained still, and the nurse was starting to doubt if Roger truly had witnessed what he claimed he had seen. It was common for relatives of people in comatose state to have light hallucinations because of their strong desire for their loved one to wake up, thinking that they had moved when they didn’t. She looked at Roger, and when she saw his excitement and that sparkle in his eyes, she decided to try with the other hand and a little more pressure. The moment she pressed, Brian moved his fingers. His withdrawal reflex, in response to pain, seemed to function just fine. She tried again on Brian’s left hand and this time he responded fine. Roger sighed in relief, and smiled widely. He knew this event meant a higher score for his lover, finally getting out of the _unresponsive_ category. The nurse took a few notes, grinning slightly, and modified the result.

“That gives us a score of six.” She concluded, and handed the paper to Roger. One point under the _‘moderate damage’_ line, it was looking way better now, but it made Roger wonder how severe the injury truly was. He wanted Brian to wake up, of course, but he was scared of what would happen when he did. “Congratulations Mr Taylor, your endless hours of reading are paying back.” She said sweetly, and smiled.

“Do you think he is going to become more responsive any time soon? Two weeks seems like a lot to me, there has definitely been some restoration of his neural connections.”

Roger had been reading so much about medicine when he got back home that at this point he could almost be a nurse. He knew Brian wasn’t going to just _‘wake up’_ as many people expected, but to slowly start regaining consciousness and be more aware of his surroundings, and eventually respond to commands. This made Roger even more impatient than he already was, but he didn’t mind to wait as long as Brian recovered. The nurse seemed a bit impressed by his way of formulating the question, and assumed he had probably studied some type of medicine and had a basic knowledge about the subject.

“It’s hard to guess, but it shouldn’t take too long from now for him to open his eyes, especially with these new advances.” She said, and Roger was glad to hear that. “I think there’s quite a bit of neuronal activity, and that is probably due to the amount of hours you interact with him. You keep his bran awake, in a certain way.”

The musician looked at Brian again and smiled. There was at least a little bit of hope in all this mess, and that made him more than happy. The past two weeks had been the darkest of his life, and the most difficult ones, but they had helped him to appreciate how valuable every second spent alongside his lover truly was. He should have told him how much he loved him more often, and he planned to do so when Brian was out of this situation.

The nurse left them alone, and Roger sighed lovingly. He had completely forgotten about Brian’s parents visit today, so when he glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost four o’ clock, he said goodbye as quickly as he could and tried to remember how to exit the unit without calling everyone’s attention. He had been in that unit many times already, but all the hallways looked the same for him, painted with equal colours and with a similar amount of doors at each side.

Harold hadn’t visited his son in almost a week. Ruth did, and Roger never asked about his boyfriend’s father when he talked with his mother. He was curious, but he wasn’t sure if asking was a good idea.

The drummer finally found the way out, but just right in front of the exit, there were Ruth and Harold. He didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there hoping Harold wouldn’t notice him. Roger followed his movements with his eyes, almost internally praying, and fortunately he took the path to Brian’s room without seeing him. The drummer sighed and walked through the hallway towards the exit, but it felt wrong. He couldn’t just leave like that.

The moment he passed in front of room 1-514 he could hear Ruth’s sweet voice trying to comfort her husband. Roger didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he couldn’t help it. He stood right next to the door, with his back against the wall, in complete silence.

“He’ll be okay, honey.” She said, while Harold took his son’s hand. He hadn’t done that in so long that if felt foreign to him. He noticed the contrast between Brian’s hands when he was little and now that he was a man, the hardness of his fingertips for playing so much guitar, and the texture of his skin. “Remember what the nurse said?” Ruth rubbed her husband’s back, and rested her head on his shoulder. “He is strong, and he’s capable of getting through this.”

“I just want him back.”

Roger placed a hand over his own chest. Everyone wanted Brian back, and his absence was felt by each of his loved ones. There could be many conflicts between Harold and Roger, but they had one thing in common: they both loved Brian, and cared for his well-being. They both wanted only the best for the guitarist. Yes, Harold could think that Roger was an impure sinner and whatever, but he had to recognize that the drummer truly adored Brian. Otherwise, he wouldn’t show up to accompany him every day.

“He is squeezing my hand.” You could tell by Harold’s voice that he was smiling, and his wife giggled. 

“Because he loves you, honey.”

A moment of silence took place, and Roger felt like he should go home. Maybe he could clean the dust off _The Fireplace_ ’s case, now that he had a reason to do so. However, the moment he took a step, he heard Harold speak again in a broken voice. Roger looked at the door, and for the first time in many years heard sincere emotion in Harold's voice.

“I’ve been a horrible father to him.”

“That’s not true, Harold.” She replied, convinced. He wasn’t a bad parent, he just had problems accepting some aspects of his son’s life. Just like when he initially didn’t want him to be a musician, and said that he should continue his career in astrophysics and do only that for a living, but eventually realized that Brian was almost destined to be Queen’s guitarist.

“Ruth, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” She stated, in a loving voice. “You’ve done so much for him. He still uses the guitar you two made stealing things from my sewing box.”

Roger smiled, as well as Harold. Brian was proud of that guitar and the two years of its making were probably the two years he had been closer to his father. Spending hours and hours trying to fill in the holes on the guitar’s neck with matchsticks, secretly taking buttons of Ruth’s sewing box thinking she wouldn’t notice, and constructing the Red Special inside that workshop on their house, those were some of Brian’s best years. Roger had heard the story about _The Fireplace_ ’s making a million times, but Brian used to tell it with such emotion that Roger couldn’t get tired of it.

“Those buttons and knitting needles would have never expected to be given such a use.” Harold laughed softly.

When Brian told his father he wanted to focus on music, Harold though he was throwing his education away and losing his time. They didn’t even spoke for almost two years because of this, and shortly after they contacted again, Brian decided to tell them the truth about his relationship with Roger. Then, they went silent again. So much precious time had been lost, so many things could have been made.

“I think you should step back on the lawsuit.” Ruth said, a little nervous. She didn’t want to start an argument, she knew they had to be united to confront this situation, but she truly felt that it was unfair for the drummer. “It’s not a solution.”

“I want him to pay for this.” Harold said, completely decided. He wanted what, from his point of view, was justice.

“Accidents happen, love. You can’t blame him.” She reasoned, and sighed. “Roger is as concerned as we are, trust me.”

“Don’t say his name, please. We can’t step back.” He had always been stubborn, and Brian was just like him. It was nearly impossible to change his mind. “We’ll get a restriction order, and we’ll get our son back.”

“I understand you, love, and I’m hurting too.” Ruth’s voice sounded soft as silk. “But that isn’t what Brian would want.”

“He is our son, Ruth.”

“And he loves Roger.” She answered. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Roger smiled widely as he walked through the hallway and exited Intensive Care. When he got out and was surrounded by the warm summer air, he felt a strong desire to go with John and Freddie and tell them the news.

-

 “I would have hated me too.” Roger said, placing a tile on the board. “He has a point to despise me, you know.”

“Don’t say stupid things.” Freddie rolled his eyes and put another tile, trying to pick up his game. Up to now John was winning and he seemed quite happy with this, grinning slightly and giggling after Freddie’s comment. “Ruth is with you, and she’s lovely. Harold will eventually change his mind.”

After visiting Brian, Roger was back home playing Scrabble with his two bandmates. They had put the board on the coffee table, so Roger sat at the sofa in a comfortable position. John was sitting on the floor crossing his legs and Freddie played around with cushions. The two had decided to stay with Roger that night, to try and cheer him up a bit. He had been stressing over too many neurology books lately, and a little fun wouldn’t harm him. Freddie had hidden his books somewhere in the house and refused to tell Roger where they were.

“Today’s visit was...” Roger paused to think of a proper adjective. Normally, he would describe his visits as _painful_ or _fairly_ _disappointing_ , due to the lack of progress on Brian’s recovery. However, now it was different. He smiled slightly, thinking of how to describe that day’s experience properly. “... special.”

John and Freddie looked at each other, and then at their drummer. They frowned slightly, not knowing how to feel or what he meant by saying the visit was _‘special’_. Their confused expressions amused Roger.

“Special?” Deaky said in an intrigued voice, tilting his head to the right like a curious puppy. Roger laughed at this gesture, and both his friends smiled.

“Is that good?” Freddie asked, his hopes raising considerably. He had seen Roger so broken for the past weeks that hearing him laugh sincerely was uncommon, and seeing him recover at least a bit of his normal self, bubbly and silly, was a huge deal.

“We held hands, for real.” Roger said proudly, and smiled like he had achieved something incredible, like he was a teen that had some type of contact with his crush for the first time ever. “He squeezed my fingers.”

John and Freddie looked at each other in silence for a few seconds, before Freddie threw the board off the table. The pieces of the game flew through the air as the singer grabbed a cushion to hit Roger with it. John stood up and tried to defend the drummer, between many laughs.

“I fucking told you that he was going to recover!” Freddie laughed, as Roger tried to protect himself with his arms and called for Deaky’s help.

“This is unfair, I’m disabled!” He complained, taking one of his crutches to use it as a shield.

“You have been depressed for nothing, we told you that there’s hope!” Freddie sounded like a parent reproaching something to their child. “But you don’t fucking listen to us!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Next time you act like a goddamned pessimist, I’ll kick your-“Roger took the cushion and hit Freddie back.

They began a quite long war, which Roger lost due to his inability to walk properly. He ended up laying on the floor, laughing, exhausted. He had missed their dumb fights and the general experience of goofing around like idiots, so it felt amazing to recover that part of his life. The three of them were way too tired from chasing each other around the house after their little war, and laid together on the floor like five year olds.

“Withdrawal reflex.” Roger said, laying on the carpet, surrounded by cushions. John was at his left and Freddie at his right. The drummer closed his eyes, caressing his own right hand that Brian had finally held that day. It was incredible how a little thing that they did every day before the accident could become such an important and extraordinary matter after losing it. “That’s real progress right there.”

“He’ll be here in no time, ready to cuddle with you again.” John affirmed and Roger giggled. Freddie rested his head on Roger’s chest and hugged a cushion. He wasn’t a fan of exercising and it showed on how tired he was after running for just a few minutes. “We better clean this place, have you seen the dust on Red Special’s case?”

Roger nodded, and the idea of preparing the house wasn’t a bad one. He hadn’t even swept in a while, not motivated to even think about it. Brian was the one that always insisted and convinced Roger to clean the windows, but he ended up helping Roger because he claimed that the drummer wasn’t cleaning them correctly.

“Thank you, chaps.” Roger said, and reached for his friends’ faces, pinching their cheeks like an old granny showing affection to her grandsons.

“What for?” Deaky asked, looking at the drummer.

“Because I’m a depressed fool but you’re still here.” He explained, looking at the ceiling to avoid visual contact. He didn’t want to get emotional. “These weeks have been so horribly dark, I’m glad I can rely on you.”

“That’s so sweet.” John chuckled.

“Don’t thank us, you sad goofball, _we_ have to thank _you_.” Freddie sat up and Roger glanced at him, still lying on the floor alongside Deaky.

“What for?”

“For being strong, and waking Brian up with your horrible singing.” Freddie smiled, before starting to laugh. John joined him, and then Roger.

“Wanna hear it?” He asked.

“No!” Freddie answered.

“Galileo!” Roger said in his insanely high falsetto, starting another cushion fight with Freddie and John.

Queen had always been like a family, a conflictive but loving family. Roger tended to want to handle all his problems by himself, not really liking to seek for help or admitting that he couldn’t do something alone. However, he was slowly realizing that having the capricious Freddie and smiling John at his side was definitely better than having to face everything on his own.

For the first time since the accident, Roger laughed so much his stomach started to hurt. For the first time since the accident, he didn’t feel the constant guilt that tortured him every day. For the first time since the accident, he truly had hope. It wasn’t that fake hope, with underlying pessimism, that had been trying to win the fight. He felt lighter, for some reason, and even felt more eager to go and visit his boyfriend the next day, and read some astronomy books. That night, he could sleep and dream. He hadn’t dreamt anything in a long time, but that night he was able to see himself playing for a wide audience, alongside John, Freddie, and Brian.

For the first time since the accident, it was truly a good day.


	7. Chapter 7

A newspaper that had been blown away by the morning’s early wind flew through London, making its way down the streets. Some people stepped on it by accident, others completely ignored its presence. Two kids began to chase it before their mother could stop them, but they eventually gave up seeing they couldn’t run as fast as they needed to catch it. It travelled a few more meters, reaching Hyde Park, at around seven in the afternoon.

It flew past the trees, past various people, and ended up sliding under a bench, reaching Roger’s feet. He looked down, and carefully bent to reach it. He did it with lazy movements, due to his tiredness.

He had gone out for a walk with Freddie and John. The doctors were impressed of how his bones were evolving, and he had to move in order to keep his muscles healthy. Deaky had to practically drag him out of bed, as he didn’t want to go and refused to dress up. He had to surrender after Freddie said he wouldn’t let him visit Brian the next day if he didn’t obey. Freddie felt horrible for threatening him like that and apologized for it, but there was no other way to get Roger out of his mattress.

_Roger Taylor, Queen's drummer, disrespects the press_

“What a headline.” He sighed in frustration, lifting the paper up and observing the picture they had used to accompany the text. It was from the latest tour, to promote _A Night at the Opera_ , and showed the four band members smiling for the camera. Behind them, the audience shouted Queen’s name. Roger knew he had that same photo, with some pretty portrait frame, next to the chimney inside his house. He left the paper at his side, on the bench. The wind carried it away a few seconds later.

“Don’t let that affect you.” John comforted him, sitting down beside his friend, on one of the many benches that Hyde Park was full of. Before releasing their first album, the band would gather a lot at that park. Freddie said that it was the perfect place to write things, as calm and silent as it was. Brian would bring one of Roger’s acoustics, and the drummer enjoyed to play with Deaky’s fluffy hair as he lay down on the grass. “They love to say that rock music makes people violent.”

“Plus, you’re the drummer, and drummers are aggressive.” Freddie said with the annoying lady voice he always made when he was joking, and Roger laughed. “You hit drums and that is a savage, uncivilized thing to do!”

“Look how aggressive I am!” He took one of his crutches and gently hit John’s arm with it. Deaky pretended to be terribly hurt as Freddie said Roger was a threat to society. The three friends laughed.

“You’re a human with feelings who is really concerned about someone he loves, and for today’s journalists, to see some humanity is rather weird.” Freddie explained, and he spoke the truth. The drummer shouldn’t be worried about what the newspapers had to say because he’ll always come across as a bad guy, no matter how much of a great person he was. It was way more interesting to talk about how he was a horrible man even if it wasn’t true, rather than to praise him for his good actions. “So don’t be sad about it, you’re way better than them.”

Roger searched for a cigar in his pocket. Smoking definitely helped him to relieve stress, and that day was specially stressful.

He had had to meet a lawyer and organize his next judicial move in response to Mr May. He really didn’t want to go to court, even though it was obvious that he was going to win and Harold didn’t have strong evidence to prove his points. He just didn’t want to go that far, Harold was Brian’s father, and having to face him like he was his worst enemy wasn’t exactly a pleasant thing to do. Also, Ruth was probably going to be by her husband’s side, and Roger didn’t want to lose the bond they had formed in the past weeks.

Roger had been at the hospital earlier to get part of his cast removed, around his foot. Those were minor fractures, so they had healed quickly. Now he could use shoes. He had been just a few hallways away from his boyfriend, but he couldn’t visit Brian that day. His parents were with him, so Roger had to stay away to avoid trouble.

He would have his first meeting with a psychiatrist in a few days. Freddie insisted that it would help him, but the last thing Roger wanted to do was talk to someone about how he felt. On top of that, he was conscious of the generalized homophobia that lived in society, and he didn’t need some doctor to tell him he was unnatural and sinful or whatever the moment he discovered what Brian meant to Roger. Well, he would have to lie to the psychiatrist. He wasn’t sure if that was going to be easy.

When he opened the box, he noticed that there were no cigarettes left. He didn’t remember to smoke that many, so he frowned lightly. Instead of finding what he was looking for, he found a note written in light blue paper and carefully folded.

_Don’t smoke, you’ll die young!_

“He’s so disobedient.” The drummer smiled, and his two friends glanced at him. “I told him not to touch my things.” Roger handed the note to John, who laughed after reading it.

“He’s right.” He said, as he gave the note to Freddie. “You should take his advice, Roggie. We need you here.”

“So you leave secret messages to each other?” Freddie asked, grinning after reading the note.

“Sometimes.” He lied, knowing that their written exchanges happened far more often than that. He remembered the drawer of his bedside table, full of those little papers, that was now locked with a key that lay on the kitchen’s table. “And I keep them.”

“You guys are too cute for this Earth.” Freddie said, and John agreed by nodding. Freddie always complained about not finding someone to have a relationship like Roger and Brian had, and declared that he was their number one fan and number one voluntary to be their godfather when they got married. It was more than illegal, of course, but they liked to pretend it wasn’t and let Freddie fantasize about what he was going to wear for their special day.

“Don’t make me think about it.” Roger sighed. “I had to put all our little notes in a drawer and lock it. ” He folded the paper again, and put it inside his wallet. That way, he wouldn’t lose it before putting it with the others, at the depths of that wooden box.

“Why?” Deaky asked.

“I don’t want to be constantly reminded of how much I miss him.” He answered with simplicity, laying back on the bench.

“Oh, Rog...” Freddie sighed. John and him felt useless when Roger talked about missing Brian, because they couldn’t do much about it. They just hoped he would be back soon. 

“And I had to lock away his birthday gift, too.” Roger added. “It’s not like he’s going to find it, but it makes me too nostalgic.”

“You’re right, two days until his birthday!” The singer exclaimed. “And that means your birthday is also around the corner, dear!”

“I don’t really care about me.” Roger said, now looking at the sky. His own well being was now in a second place. In his list of priorities, Brian was the first. It wasn’t a healthy way of thinking, but he couldn’t help it. He thought it would be selfish of him if he cared too much about himself.

“We do!” Deaky affirmed, and Freddie agreed. “We’ll come up with some ideas and make a chocolate cake. We know you love those.”

“Chaps, I appreciate it, but the last thing I want to do is celebrate. Really, don’t worry about me, think about important things. I don’t need a party or whatever.” He said.

“But you deserve it!” Freddie insisted. The drummer didn’t want to argue, so he decided to let his friends do whatever they wanted to do. He sighed and put a few conditions to his friends’ plans.

“Don’t do something stupid, and no jokes about cupboards.” He stated in a firm voice, pointing at Freddie with his index finger.

“It’ll be amazing dear, I promise!” The singer giggled. “Not even a little mention of cupb-“

“No, Fred. No.”

“Alright, as you wish.”

-

Roger couldn’t sleep. He just kept trying to find a comfortable position, and he wasn’t succeeding. His eyes ached, but every time he closed them, he unconsciously opened them again. He wasn’t sure why, he was exhausted and very much needed some rest. The bed was warm and the blankets covered him completely. There was no reason to stay awake, but his mind didn’t want to cooperate.

The musician didn’t want to turn on the television since the accident, or listen to the radio. If every little thing that he saw there remembered him of the accident, he had to stay away. However, before going to sleep, curiosity won and he turned the radio on.

He knew it was a bad idea the moment he heard news about car accidents. He didn’t like those casualties to be mentioned or even eluded, and news about other crashes made him feel sad. Even sadder than before it happened to him, because now he could relate in a personal level and feel identified with those broken families. He had heard desperate parents crying for their child, and they remembered him of Brian’s parents.

Roger turned around in the bed, facing the other direction and trying to pretend Brian’s place on the mattress didn’t existed. He would always sleep at the right side, and Roger at the left side. It felt lonely to have such a giant bed just for himself. The drummer looked at the wall and saw the clock hanging there, making its obnoxious sound. Three in the morning, he should definitely be asleep at the moment.

He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. His drawer’s key rested above the table, and Roger took it. He looked for the note inside his coat’s pocket and made his way through the hallway again. When he opened the bedroom’s door again, the light that came from outside illuminated one of the bedside tables, more specifically, Roger’s.

With the light blue note in one hand and the small key in the other, he approached it and opened the drawer. He tried not to look, and just leave the note there and close it again. However, it didn’t go as planned. When he left the note, he read what was written in little white paper. He did it accidentally, but it almost felt like it was a message from Brian intended to be read at the moment.

 _Don’t feel lonely, because I’m here for you_.

Roger smiled weakly, and didn’t have the strength to lock all those things away for a second time. Instead, he took the wooden box out of his bedside table and left it on the bed, to sit down beside it and go through some of their messages. Maybe that could make him feel better.

He took another paper, and it was written with blue ink. He remembered the day he found it, probably three or four months ago.

_You have to admit that clogs are cool. I look amazing when I use them, so try this! I’m sure you’ll love them._

Roger laughed, remembering how offended Brian was after he criticized his excessive use of clogs and said he should choose something else. The guitarist used to take them off to play his instrument and leave them on the floor, and Deaky would trip over them quite frequently. John was also falling into Brian’s love for those shoes and using them more often.

Brian had gifted his lover a pair of white clogs, and put that note in the box when he gave it to him. The drummer used them and Brian was delighted with the result, saying he looked like he was made to use clogs. Roger didn’t find them as comfortable but used them anyway.

_What are you doing, mischievous potato? Go away!_

That one was put in the kitchen’s cupboard that was reserved for alcohol. Brian didn’t like to drink a lot since he got hepatitis, and didn’t want Roger to suffer the same faith. So now he had two missions: To get Roger to stop drinking as much, and to make him stop smoking completely. He really worried about his health and well being, and Roger found it adorable, but slightly annoying. His cigars would magically disappear every now and then, and Brian said that ‘ _an evil gnome who liked to smoke_ ’ was the one to blame.

Roger left the note inside the drawer again, and took another.

 _I’m not jealous_.

“Sure, sure you aren’t.” Roger giggled, reading the words written with angry strokes.

They had had a little argument after one of Freddie’s parties. A man had approached Roger with clear and inappropriate intentions, and Brian was losing his temper after it. He could be really insecure when it came to those situations, and his boyfriend wasn’t the best at calming him down. He knew Roger wouldn’t ever be unfaithful, but he felt insecure about _himself_. He always said Roger was too good for him, and the drummer couldn’t understand why. Brian was intelligent, kind, educated and handsome. Why would Roger want to choose anyone over him?

_You found me!_

That one was attached to the photo album Brian had given Roger for their sixth anniversary, last year. Reading that note made Roger ask himself where that album was now.

He stood up and went to their library to try and find it. Between a biography of some American scientist and a book about constellations, Roger found the album. He had an idea: he could bring it to Brian the next day and describe the photos. He was probably tired of books, and a little change would do. He took the album between his hands and left it on the coffee table. That way, he wouldn’t forget to take it with him for his next visit. 

_I’ve missed you a lot._

“I miss you too, baby.” Roger whispered, feeling a bit odd for talking out loud knowing no one was listening.

That note was written when Roger was away, experimenting with some recordings. He had written a few songs that weren’t into Queen’s discography, and he was evaluating the possibility of putting them into his own solo album _. I Wanna Testify_ was Brian’s favourite among those unreleased tracks, and Roger had planned to release it as a single some time soon. Brian motivated him to do so, proud of his lover’s work and effort.

He yawned and read one last note.

_Goodnight, sweet pea!_

Roger smiled again before putting the drawer back in its place. Now he was truly exhausted, and once he laid down under his blankets, he didn’t find it difficult to close his eyes and fall into his dreams. He needed some rest for visiting Brian tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 8

Roger was in the waiting room once again, staring at the clock. He saw other people coming and going, but nobody said a word to him. He understood, they were just as stressed out as he was. Nobody really desired to have a conversation, they had other things to think about at the moment. Also, it was early, and the visitors seemed to be a bit sleepy. 

The Intensive Care unit wasn’t the biggest of the hospital. It didn’t have as many beds, and much of the space that the department had was occupied by machines to keep their patients alive. Ventilators could be huge, and they made a horrible noise. Many of the patients’ relatives had headaches due to the sound, that resembled that of a fan working to the point of breaking. Roger didn’t know if he preferred that or complete silence. At least the sound made everything feel less lifeless. 

A petite woman entered the waiting room, and sat beside Roger. She was a sweet granny, who always gave candy to the doctors and nurses and congratulated them for their hard work. Roger had seen her visiting a patient that was probably her husband, and it looked like she was the only visitor he had.  

“Good morning.” She said, putting her glasses on. She had pink cheeks, always wore dresses, and had an overall maternal appearance. She resembled one of those grannies of animated movies, that big American studios made every now and then.

“Good morning.” Roger smiled briefly. 

“Such a handsome young man, are you visiting your wife?” She asked and winked, and Roger laughed softly.

“No, I’m visiting a close friend.” His white lie was harmless, just meant to avoid any uncomfortable situations. It wasn’t entirely a lie, Brian was his best friend for almost two years before they stepped into a closer relationship. Roger still considered Brian his best friend, anyway.

“Oh, I see.” She smiled softly. “May I know what happened to your friend?”

“He had a stroke.” Roger said plainly, not getting into many details of how that stroke had come to be. The lady placed one hand on Roger’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to be sad, laddie, that happens to many people every day and they recover.” She affirmed. “My husband is in here because of the same reason.”

It was kind of refreshing to meet someone in a similar situation. It didn’t make things less tragic, but it certainly made the experience a little less lonely.

“He has been in a very deep coma for six months.” She admitted. “But I stay strong because I love him, and I know he wants me to be by his side. I’ve been by his side for fifty two years, I won't give up any time soon.”

Her words warmed Roger’s heart. She seemed so kind and lovely, and the drummer thought she was more than brave for staying with a smile on her face after so many days of helplessness. If he couldn’t handle Brian being in that state for fourteen days, he didn’t want to imagine what that poor woman felt. On top of that, being married for more than fifty years was an incredible achievement. 

“My friend is in a coma, too.” Roger gently said. “I admire your braveness, I wish I could be that way.”

“You already are!” She exclaimed. “You just don’t realize it.” The lady made Roger feel flattered, but he didn’t really believe those words. “I’ve seen you coming here almost every day, carrying books.”

“He likes to read a lot, so I’m helping.”

“That’s a brave thing to do.” She stated. “It can be hard to come here and see them that way. You know, is like they are here but at the same time they are somewhere else.”

Roger nodded, agreeing. To have a loved one in that state was heartbreaking, not only because of all the medical implications, but because of that half-presence. You could visit them, talk to them, but the lack of response made things difficult. Some cynical persons said that it was pointless and stupid, that if they couldn't respond there was no point in visiting them, so they didn't come to see the patients and just left them like if they were already dead. 

“Let’s play a game.” She proposed, sounding like a little girl. “You say something you like about your friend, and I’ll tell you something I like about my husband.”

“Sounds like a good game.” Roger chuckled.

“The first one to be called to see their loved, wins.” The lady concluded. “Would you like to play?”

“Yes, I would like to.”

“I go first.” She said. “My husband tells the best stories. Our grandchildren love them.”

“That’s sweet.” Roger giggled. “My friend is really smart. He knows many interesting things about the universe.”

“It must be entertaining to talk to him.” She assumed. “My husband was a teacher, a maths teacher. So he’s really smart too.”

“I was never good at maths.” The drummer admitted.

“Because my husband wasn’t your teacher!”

Roger was having fun. They spent their waiting minutes continuing with the game the lady had proposed.

“My friend is really talented. He sings amazingly, and is a great guitarist.”

“A musician friend!” She exclaimed. “That sounds like so much fun!”

“It is.”

“Are you a musician too?” The lady asked, pushing her glasses with her index finger.

“Yes, I am.”

“And you play music together?” She sounded excited. Probably, she was a frustrated musician, who couldn’t make a living out of her passion because she had other priorities, probably children to feed. “Can I join in?” The lady inquired. 

“Maybe, I’ll have to ask my bandmates first.” Roger joked, and she laughed.

Their game was interrupted by the secretary, who invited the granny to go to her husband’s room. She shook Roger’s hand and gave him a little candy, saying that they both had won the game. He thanked her, and she disappeared into the hallway, followed by the nurse.

-

“How are you today, Bri?”

Roger greeted his lover in a sweet voice, and held his right hand as he always did. His visits were way less depressing than the ones two weeks ago, because Brian would occasionally squeeze his hands or tilt his head a bit, in some way letting Roger know that he was listening. Those little things gave the drummer hope, and warmed his heart. That day, he hadn’t brought books to read or his acoustic guitar to play. Instead, he had brought a photo album. He knew that Brian couldn’t see it, but he had an idea in mind. When the nurse left, it was just the two of them, a ventilator to help Brian breathe, and the constant beeping of the cardiac monitor.

“The doctor told me that you may have lost your memory.” Roger recognized, and tried to sound as calm as possible. These news were tough but they weren’t exactly ‘ _news_ ’. He had read a lot about brain damage and he knew that it was a possibility, but still it was mortifying to think that it could happen to Brian. Those things always seemed so distant and impossible.

After all, a big part of what makes a person is their memory. Roger would be extremely heartbroken if Brian came home and didn’t remember Red Special. It would probably be the end of Queen, Brian’s musical career, and maybe their relationship as a couple. If they suddenly were strangers, everything would be over. If Brian didn’t even remember they were together, all the things that they went through would become pointless. Roger shook his head, wanting the bad thoughts to go away, and focused on the photo album that now rested on his legs as he sat beside his lover.

”They aren’t sure if you’ll remember me when you wake up, you know, post-traumatic amnesia is unpredictable.” Roger wished Brian didn’t suffer from it, but he knew it could last days, weeks, months or years. “I just wanted to go through some memories with you, maybe that’ll help.” The drummer said, and without letting go of Brian’s hand, looked down to see his album’s cover. “This is way more entertaining than reading a book, anyway.”

The album had been a gift from Brian to Roger for they sixth anniversary, last year. It had a dark blue cover, and at its centre there were a few phrases written with white ink. They were followed by the guitarists signature, clean and clear, as well as the rest of his writing. He had always had awesome calligraphy, maybe because of his hours and hours of taking down notes from lectures when he was studying astrophysics at Imperial College. He was a responsible student and always had good marks, contrary to Roger, who wasn’t nearly as studious or successful with his own academic life as his boyfriend was.

_Fill these pages with your best memories, and make this album a reminder of how wonderful life is._

_Happy sixth anniversary!_

_With love and cheese, Brian._

Roger giggled after reading those words again, even though he had read them a million times before. They never got old. He remembered their last anniversary, and how Brian had hidden Roger’s gift between the books in the library that occupied the left wall of their sitting room. He challenged Roger to find it, and he had had a hard time encountering it. He had checked every single place of the house, and disordered everything in the process. When he finally found it, Brian helped him to select which photos to put on the first pages. They had little paper corners to attach the images so they could take them out easily, and the couple would always write epigraphs at the back of their photos.

He caressed the cover, smiling, and finally opened the album. The first image was one of Roger’s favorites. It was taken around two years ago, during their _Sheer Heart Attack_ tour. Brian and Roger hugged, smiling for the camera, and behind them the window of their hotel room was open. The sky was clear, the moon was full and bright, and the stars made the landscape even more beautiful to look at. Freddie immortalized the moment, and even though the picture was black and white, Roger could swear that he was able to see the blueish tone of Brian’s jacket. He turned the photo around, to see what was written at its back.

_Counting stars together. November 1974_.

“We had a lot of fun during that tour, didn’t we?” Roger giggled. “I love this picture, it’s the one where we are in that hotel in Sweden. We sat down by that giant window and you rambled about constellations for hours.” He put the photo in its place again, and looked at Brian. He tilted his head to the right a little, and Roger smiled. “The sky was clear that night. ”

The drummer flipped the page, and found an image of himself where didn’t look at the camera, caught by surprise by Brian when he wasn’t attentive. He was tuning his drums, a focused expression on his face.

_Rog looking gorgeous. Don’t touch, private property. September 1971._

“This one was taken by you. You love to take photos without me realizing it, sneaky fool.” Brian tightened his fingers around Roger’s hand. “You can see me with one of my first drum kits.” Roger put the photo back on its place. “John had already joined the band by this time, around February.”

_Bri doing Bri stuff. June 1969._

The picture depicted the guitarist sitting in the middle of his bedroom, books open around him, as he smiled. He was wearing pyjamas and he looked quite tired.

“You are always surrounded by books.” The drummer affirmed. ”Here, you were still studying astrophysics. I remember this day perfectly, we had recently moved in together to that small flat close to Imperial College.” His voice sounded a little nostalgic, remembering the early days. “You told me you had an important evaluation, and to practice you gave me a lecture. I think it was about the expansion of the universe.” Roger had been Brian’s listener for every time he had to practice before a presentation. “Needless to say, you got the highest mark of your entire class.”

_Smiling away. October 1968_.

Brian carried Roger piggyback, as he didn’t want to walk home. The photo was taken by Tim, during their _Smile_ days. Brian’s curls were short.

“You were starting to let your hair grow longer and I kept making bad jokes about how you were going to end up as the Leibniz of the new century.” Roger laughed. “That day I had like five exams, and I was really tired. You carried from East Polytechnic all the way to our flat.”

_The best chefs in history. August 1975._

Freddie and Roger posed for the camera, holding kitchen knives and spoons. It was a special occasion, John’s birthday, so they decided to make a fancy dinner. Jer, Freddie’s mother, had given them a few special recipes to try.

“I was never talented like Mum to make things.” Roger recognized. “But at least I tried. That night we made like five different dishes and you liked them all, somehow. They were for Deaky’s birthday.”

_The goofiest band of all time. October 1974._

“This was a few hours after _Killer Queen_ hit the charts.” Roger said, looking at the picture. It depicted the four friends with happy faces, pointing at a television that read ‘ _Queen on the raise, British band breaks through with ‘Killer Queen’’._ “Really happy days. Well, not entirely. You were really sick during the _Sheer_ sessions, but we took good care of you.”

_The most handsome man in history. March 1973._

Sometimes Roger felt like he should have studied photography. It was one of those photos with Brian at the foreground, where you could see with clarity every detail. Roger had taken it years ago, but he adored that photo just like when he first saw it. He though it portrayed Brian’s beauty really nicely. He looked at the picture, and then glanced at Brian, who was still in his sleep-like state.

“You’re still the most handsome, that’s obvious.”

_Bri does know his onions. February 1972._

“More astronomy things.” The drummer said. Brian looked focused and determined in the image, holding a ruler that pointed to the window. “In this picture, you were most likely giving a lecture. I always pretended to be annoyed when you went into giving those little classes, but they were interesting to hear.”

_Rog using his noodle, clever boy. May 1970._

“There I am playing Scrabble with Deaky, and you can see an angry Fred in the background, sticking his tongue out.” Roger laughed. “That day you scored an insane amount, so John and I fought for the second place, and Freddie simply hated us all.”

_Best parents in law ever. October 1970_.

“Mum and Dad always loved you.” The musician said, sweetly. “For that Halloween we dressed up as a family of scarecrows and they said they preferred you over me, because you’re way more well behaved and have better marks than their irresponsible son, even as a scarecrow. Clare also said she didn’t mind.” Roger chucked while putting the image back in its place. “I have a family of traitors!”

Roger flipped the page, knowing that after that photo it was where the blank pages started to take over. He hadn’t filled them yet, and planned to do so in the future. However, he was surprised by a picture he haven’t seen before.

Brian and Roger, sitting on the grass of some park, one sunny day. Hugging like they were trying to see who could hold the other tighter, they seemed to be laughing. When Roger read the back of the photo, he realized that it had been taken just one month ago.

_You are even more beautiful than anything I could have asked for. June 1976._

“We’ve had so many great moments together.” The drummer said, his voice sounding weak. “I really hope you’ll remember.” He closed the album. “Please, Bri, don’t forget them.”

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to believe that Brian could have forgotten about all those things. That he could have forgotten about his love for the universe, badgers and clogs. That he could have forgotten about when each one of those pictures was taken. That he could have forgotten his friends, his parents, and Roger himself.

“Please, don’t forget me.”

He knew it was a selfish request, but he desperately needed him back. He needed him to give Roger lectures about how he should take better care of himself every time he saw a cigarette between his lips. He needed Brian to practice guitar for endless hours and gently sing to him. He needed him to walk around the house making noise with his clogs. He needed to cuddle with him and not feel like the bed was too big. And he craved for his kisses, his smiles, his kindness, his goofy jokes, his stubbornness, his voice, his everything.

He needed _Brian_ , and his absence was painful.

The musician sighed and released his boyfriend's hand, leaving it gently placed on his lap.

When he glanced up, he saw Brian’s hazel eyes watching him. 


	9. Chapter 9

‘ _Call the nurse, call the nurse, call the nurse!’_ The drummer repeated the same phrase again and again in his mind, and he knew he had to get up and notify the medical staff as soon as possible, but his body wasn’t cooperating. He just stayed there, paralyzed, watching Brian blink a few times and eventually situate himself. Roger felt his heart pounding inside his chest, as he tried to remain calm. He started to breathe deeply, to try and keep his feelings over control.

Roger’s eyes were a mere reflection of what he felt, coloured in deep blue behind a shiny surface that reflected the room’s white lights. It was such a strange mixture of emotions and expectations: the roughest sorrow, the strongest happiness, and the highest hopes, all at the same time. He hadn’t cried in what felt like ages, and now everything wanted to come out at once. He just wanted to hold Brian in his arms and tell him everything was okay. He couldn’t let it go, not while he was in front of his lover, who was slowly starting to regain consciousness and needed a peaceful surrounding to do so.

Brian couldn’t focus his eyes for a while, but when he did, he looked at his boyfriend and lightly tilted his head to the right. His eyelids felt heavy, and a few curls fell over his face. His senses were starting to wake up again, and he noticed the distinct scent of the perfume his sweetheart always used. It brought to him a sense of calmness and safety, even though Brian wasn’t sure why it did. He felt the softness of the sheets, and heard Roger’s shaky breathing.

He tried to move, but his articulations were stiff and they didn’t respond as he wished them to. This sensation of not being in control, combined with the drugs he had been in during his coma and the sudden increase of his awareness were making him quite uncomfortable. He looked around, but he seemed more like he was staring off into space than consciously trying to discern where he was.

Nasal intubation wasn’t something familiar to Brian, and the translucent tubes that entered his nose made him question what was happening. His brain was trying to get too many answers at once, and it was difficult to think straight considering his mental processes had been almost completely stopped for fourteen days. His thoughts were interrupted by Roger’s voice, gentle and caring, making the guitarist stop and stare for a minute.

“Good morning, sunshine.” He whispered.

Brian didn’t say anything, and just blinked. Roger decided it was a good moment to call the nurse, so he left the album on the little white table, took his crutches and got up. Brian didn’t follow him with his eyes, he was still too lost to even notice Roger was now trying to open the door and call for some help. He quickly found Alexandra, probably his favourite nurse, who called the director of Intensive Care to check on their recently awaken patient.

When they entered, Brian was looking at the window. He wasn’t really _looking_ at it as his eyes seemed to have gone out of focus again and he hadn't recovered his normal vision just yet, and that was a relatively normal thing to happen for someone in his situation. He was just facing the direction from where the biggest amount of light came into the white room, as he could distinguish the change in illumination.

The doctor and the nurse checked every machine, and the cardiac monitor kept making its sound, cutting through the silence. Brian’s blood pressure was perfect, and it was a good sign, that indicated he wasn’t likely go back into a second comatose state. Roger thought he would completely go crazy if that happened.

“His vital signs are just right.” Alexandra said, writing some notes down. This was going straight to the guitarist’s medical history, and it was making the recording look a little better than three or four days ago, when Brian suffered a dramatic drop in oxygen and almost had to be surgically intervened. “That’s an amazing way to start.”

Brian’s pupils dilated properly when the nurse directed light to them. It meant that his vision was going to be back to normal in a short span of time, but for now he was still somewhat blind. He could see blurry colours, light and dark, but shapes were unrecognizable and he still wondered what was happening to his eyes. Even though the situation was very stressful and any normal person could have went into a crisis by just experiencing ten seconds of it, the drugs kept Brian numb enough to remain calm.

They asked him to do simple things to test both his awareness and motor response, such as pointing at something or sticking his tongue out, and even though he understood the questions he couldn’t perform the tasks he was asked to do. He was confused, it made no sense to him. Lifting one arm couldn’t be an excessively difficult thing, the four people that were in front of him could do it easily. He didn’t realize what made him different, why he couldn’t.

There was a fundamental difference between being _awake_ and being _aware_ , the second state being more difficult to achieve than the first one. Brian had opened his eyes and was out of the coma, but it didn’t mean he was a fully functional and capable person again.

“Can you understand my words?” The doctor wanted to know whether or not he could process what was happening, and Brian took a few minutes to answer. The initial amnesia was starting to fade away, and it was a clear sign of recovery. It meant that the damage the brain had suffered wasn’t impossible to get over.

“Yes.” He finally said, with monotony, in a low voice. It was the first word he had said in two weeks, and Roger felt relieved to hear him. He hadn’t lost his ability to speak, so those were good news. Any sign of recovery was good news, no matter how little those signs could be.

“Do you know where you are?” Alexandra asked, and her voice was relaxing to hear. It was similar to Ruth’s, but not equal.

“No.” Brian responded, after thinking for a while. Then, the nurse looked at her patient and asked another serious question.

“What’s your name?”

Roger glanced at his lover. Such a thing made him realize how serious the situation really was. Something so basic as _his own name_ could have been forgotten, a fundamental part of his identity. Roger’s guilty feeling threatened to show up again, but he managed to suppress it and focus on his boyfriend’s response.

The guitarist hesitated.

“Brian.” He answered, with a hint of doubt. His name was longer than that, he knew it for a fact, but he couldn’t recall it completely.

“Who’s the Queen of the United Kingdom?”

Roger looked at the doctor, not expecting that question, before he realized they were asking that not because the answer was specially relevant, but because they needed to know just _how_ aware Brian was. Such an interrogation could be responded to by heart, and if he did respond correctly, it would mean that his memory wasn’t too affected. It could mean that he was somewhat situated in time and space, and it was another sign of recovery. 

“Elizabeth.” He paused, and added: “The second.”

Doctor Foxworth and Alexandra smiled, and Roger also did the same. The doctor asked another question.

“How do you feel?”

The guitarist had to spend a few seconds thinking before he could understand the question, and notice how cold his bed was. He also had a warm sensation, somehow, on his right hand. He didn’t know it was the hand Roger had been holding every single time he visited him, and have left on his lap just a few minutes ago. Brian looked at his surroundings like if they could give him an answer.

“I don’t know."

There was a short pause until Alexandra spoke.

“He can’t talk that much yet, only monosyllables and short sentences.” The nurse said, and her explanation was evidently directed to the drummer. “It’s completely normal for the first hours, no need to worry. He’ll be gradually getting better as time goes by.”

The doctor decided, after reading the cardiac monitor and the machines’ stats, that he could turn off the ventilator and evaluate if Brian could breathe on his own. Roger, who was nervous enough already, was internally praying for Brian to be able to do it. The ventilator stopped making its annoying noise, and to everyone’s fortune, the musician could breathe normally. Due to the low levels of oxygen in his blood, the doctor decided to connect him to a concentrator instead, so the tube in his nose wasn’t removed.

“He’s doing it very well.” Doctor Foxworth sounded happy. “Brian, do you see anyone familiar in this room?”

Brian looked at the doctor, then at Alexandra, and then at his boyfriend.

He knew those eyes, he knew those lips, and that concerned expression. He stared at the drummer, silently. Roger felt like he was sitting for the hardest exam of his entire life, and he hoped he could pass it. A few different names came to Brian’s mind, but he eventually selected one and said it. This time, his voice wasn’t completely monotonous. It had a hint of his old way of talking, with his British accent and characteristic light-hearted tone.

“Roger.”

They spent two hours doing tests and found out a few things, most of them unhappy truths. Brian couldn’t read or write, his coordination was messed up really badly, and his movements were exceptionally shaky and clumsy. Also, his eyes lost focus every now and then. The other senses seemed to be stable, but his reflexes weren’t working as they were supposed to. His reaction time was off, but he could respond to some commands.

That meant a lot of things were now different. The library in their house was now full of texts that, for Brian, were unintelligible. Roger wouldn’t see him reading by the chimney, or hear him talking about something he had seen in the newspapers. He couldn’t read the songs he had written in the past, and his lovely calligraphy was gone. He couldn’t understand _their notes_ anymore, and Roger wondered if he would ever receive a new secret message from his lover again, hidden under his pillow or in the alcohol’s cupboard of their kitchen. All those little papers were now just that, _little papers_ , with no further meaning or importance for Brian. 

Brian no longer knew how to play guitar. Roger almost couldn’t conceive the idea of _his Brian_ not playing his favourite instrument anymore, not being able to read sheet music, and not hearing him gently singing along as his Red Special’s strings vibrate through some lonely night, while Roger rests his head on Brian’s shoulder and slowly falls asleep. Queen was about to face a tough time, a really hard one. It wasn’t only a loss for Queen, but for rock in general. Brian was becoming a prominent guitarist in the past years, and now his career could be ruined. Roger didn’t want to believe it, and didn’t want to take it as a loss. No, it wasn’t a loss. He could learn to play again, and be even better than before the accident. Brian always liked a challenge, and his personality was unaffected. He would relearn, he had to. Not because he was in debt with Queen, but because he needed to recover that part of himself, for _himself_.

He didn’t even know how to walk, how to eat, how to swallow, he couldn’t use a fork and a knife. So many things had been erased, and relearning them was possible, but difficult. Maybe _too_ difficult, although nothing had ever been too difficult for Brian, Roger’s inspiration and one of the few people he truly admired. He always found a way to do things, no matter how statistically impossible they were.

“We need an anaesthesiologist at 1-514.” The nurse communicated, after Brian tried to describe the sharp pain he felt on the back of his head. He hadn’t noticed that part of his hair was missing.

The doctor asked Roger to leave for a minute, and Alexandra accompanied him to the waiting room. Meanwhile, the anaesthesiologist tried to get rid of Brian’s pain injecting a few substances into his body.

“Such a relief, isn’t it?” She smiled.

Roger nodded, but it was a hesitating affirmation. She did notice it, she could distinguish between a firm yes and a doubtful response, and specially when it came from Roger. They had been seeing each other for at least two hours a day for the past half a month, so she knew him on a superficial level. They had had many interesting conversations about Brian and Roger’s professions, and she had become a Queen fan fairly quickly. She had noticed how much Brian meant to Roger, too, but she hadn’t commented on it.

“You’ll need patience.” Alexandra sighed. Roger sat down on a chair and she stood up next to him, touching his shoulder. “See the bright side. He was in it for only two weeks, it could have been way longer.”

Some pauses, only filled with silence, were common in Roger’s latest conversations. This one was no exception, and just when Alexandra was about to leave, he muttered a sincere phrase to express his gratefulness.

“I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for him.“ He sounded more than honest, and shyly looked up.

“Thank yourself, too.” She grinned. “Loved ones play a huge role in the treatment.” Alexandra said for what felt like the millionth time. “I’m sure May is grateful for all those hours you spent with him, and they weren’t for nothing. You’re starting to see the results. It can only get better from now on. ”

When he could enter the room again, it was time to say goodbye. He was going to see Brian again tomorrow, but he would never get used to go home and not finding the guitarist cleaning some surface that was already spotless, or singing to some vinyl by _The Beatles_.

Brian could clearly see Roger’s nervousness when he entered and sat down on the chair beside the bed. He had seen him in that state many times before. His hands were shaky, and his blue eyes were more than familiar to the guitarist. He didn’t like to see them with such a sad expression, they were too pretty for that. Concerned because of it, he tried to say something. His throat was sore, and his voice came out as low and raspy, but he managed to ask a simple question.

“Are you okay?” Brian asked.

For Roger, it was incredible how Brian still prioritized other people’s well being above his own. He had always been a kind person, but it didn’t matter how many years Roger had spent with him, Brian never failed to impress the drummer.

Roger opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t want it to break in the middle of his sentence, and worry Brian. He got closer, and delicately moved the dark curls away from his lover’s face, as he nodded to give a soundless response. The guitarist grinned slightly, and Roger felt a wave of happiness hitting and surrounding him. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, it was almost unreal. He caressed the guitarist’s cheek, and then Brian’s toothless grin became a real smile.

They never needed words to understand each other, they just chose to use them most of the time. Just a simple caress, a slight touch, a soft kiss, all those things were more than enough for the couple to communicate. Roger had clear evidence of it, and Brian smiling was everything he needed to see in order to know that, in fact, he _did_ remember Roger.

Despite not being able to recall every detail of their relationship, or forgetting most of the photos that had a place in Roger’s album, he knew that he was seeing the love of his life in front of him, gifting him a wonderful smile as a welcome back to the reality he had been away from for the past two weeks without knowing it. He wasn’t sure where he was, why he was there, how he had arrived, or if what appeared to be a hospital bed truly was one, but seeing Roger there made the entire world seem less scary.

“I’ve missed you.” The drummer confessed. It wasn’t an unknown fact, but he felt the same relief you feel when you reveal a deep secret that has been haunting you to someone you trust. That same sensation of getting rid of weight over your shoulders. Roger thought his choice of words wasn’t even near to properly describe how much he had craved for Brian to wake up, how much he had felt his absence, how much he needed to see him open his eyes, talk, and smile again.

Brian didn’t respond verbally, but he chose to do something else instead. Shakily, he managed to bring a hand up and press Roger’s hand against his face, like he was asking his boyfriend not to go away. His touch was fragile, and Roger could tell how much of an effort Brian was making just to make him feel better. It only made Roger feel like he was falling in love with Brian for the thousandth time.

The drummer didn’t want his lover to force himself too much, so he took his hand and put it down. Then, he got closer and left an innocent kiss on his cheek.

“I said I’d stay with you, so here I am.”

Brian wanted to answer, but words didn’t come out. He had been listening to Roger’s voice, singing and reading for endless hours. He couldn’t recall what he had exactly said, as everything went through the filter of his unconsciousness and drugs combined. But he had listened to his voice, and it had helped him to feel safe. Less alone. At home.

Roger took his lover’s hand once again.

“I’ll teach you to read, to write, to play guitar...” He assured, sounding as confident as he could. “You’ll be back, and you’ll be even better than before.”

Brian’s eyes filled with tears after hearing these words, as he watched Roger with a loving glance and a wide smile. So many things had to be said, but his mind didn’t seem to be working properly yet. He couldn’t say the words, for some reason, he couldn’t articulate them. It was frustrating.

He wanted to thank Roger for staying, and asky why he had done so. He wanted to know what he had done to deserve it. However, he could just whisper one broken word. 

“Why?”

Roger giggled.

“Because I love you, silly, that’s why.”

He gently kissed his cheek for a second time.

“We’ll get through this together, Bri. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year 2019!  
> I sincerely hope you have a great year, full of happiness and love. And lots of reading, obviously!


	10. Chapter 10

“Good afternoon, Bri.”

The drummer sat down at his usual spot, at Brian’s right. He left the crutches leaning against the bed. He didn’t have a book for today, but he carried a gift with him. It was the morning of the 18th of July, the day prior to Brian’s birthday. John and Freddie were going to show up in an hour or so to greet the guitarist, but for now the two were alone in the hospital's room. 

If things had been different, Roger would have given his lover the special thing that promised to assure he was going to win their every year competition for who’s the most creative gift giver, but now it rested inside the wardrobe. He had to change his plan, and give that to him the next year, or maybe in two years, or in three more. It all depended on how well he recovered, and how their relationship continued, facing all these troubles that were making the drummer lose his sleep at night.

“How are you today?” Roger inquired, softly.

Brian still found it difficult to talk. He could speak, but it wasn’t like before. He was the kind of person who used fairly complicated words, and made complex sentences with them. It was probably a consequence of reading lots of books, and his poetic tendency to add lots of adjectives. However, he now pronounced short sentences, and some of them were kind of broken. Roger had been told that it was normal, but hearing Brian talk like that was never going to be _normal_ for him. He would recover his usual speech with time, and relearning to read and write was definitely going to help with that.

Brian would get impatient and feel uneasy when he couldn’t express himself well enough for the nurses to understand. It was hard to explain how badly his head hurt when his vocabulary had been drastically reduced, as there were certain words he wouldn’t remember. Alexandra often recurred to Roger, who could interpret everything in a level near to perfection, to have him translate Brian’s words for her and the doctors.

“Fine.” He said, trying to focus his eyes. He looked at Roger, who had a little smile on his face, and eventually his vision came back to normal. The drummer noticed it because of how his pupils dilated. He had become quite observing lately.

“That’s great, honey.” He took the box, that was carefully wrapped in violet paper and decorated with a silver bow, and put it on Brian’s lap. He looked at it, tilting his head, with curiosity.

“What?” He asked, and touched the box with his fingers. His movements were still shaky and clumsy, but they were better than not moving at all. He liked the bow, and detached it from the box. He asked Roger to come closer, and put it on his head like a decoration for his golden locks. “Better.” The drummer laughed, and Brian smiled. He thought the deep blue of his eyes and the silver colour of the bow matched nicely. “Why?”

“Tomorrow’s your birthday.” Roger explained.

“Age?”

“Twenty nine, love.”

Brian seemed impressed. He would always joke saying he was younger than his boyfriend, and said he was twenty two when someone asked. He would later laugh and tell his real age, adding a little comment about how he didn’t want his hair to turn white just yet.

“I’m old.” He concluded, after staring off into space for a bit, and Roger giggled.

The drummer helped him to unwrap the gift without tearing the paper apart. A wooden box painted in blue was revealed, and it had tiny white dots all over its surface. Before opening it, Brian looked at his lover and asked another question with his basic way of talking.

“Why today?”

It was a good question. Gifts weren’t supposed to be given before someone’s birthday. Roger was hoping Brian didn’t notice it, to avoid having to give an explanation. He wasn’t sure if he remembered how much of a problematic relationship Roger had with Harold, and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t like to remind him of it. The drummer tried to give the simplest answer.

“Because I can’t come to visit you on the twentieth, and you'll be with your parents tomorrow.” He managed to say, sounding as normal as possible. He detested Freddie and his perseverance to get Roger to see a psychologist.

“And you?”

“I won’t be here, but we’ll meet again soon.” He grinned, to make his words less depressing. They came out in a disappointed tone, no matter how much he tried to smile through it. He tried to change the subject of their conversation, and pointed at the wooden box. “Now, open that. Tell me if you like it.””

Brian wanted Roger to stay. Everything was boring without him, and the best gift Brian could ask for was to listen to his lover reading stories about magicians and knights, or some book about the formation of the Milky Way.

“Please, come back tomorrow.”

Just a simple phrase pronounced by Brian could make Roger’s hear ache. This was one of those occasions where he didn’t want to say no, but he couldn’t say yes. He had enough broken bones and psychological issues, he didn’t need Harold to contribute and add another few, and he understood that they needed to see their son and have some time alone with him.

“Aw, sweetie...” He sighed. “I wish I could.”

Alexandra had talked to Roger about Brian’s sudden fear to the dark. He didn’t like the lights to be turned off, and he would do everything he could to avoid closing the curtains. As Roger couldn’t give the planned gift to his lover, he had to come up with a new one. After learning about his boyfriend’s new item in the list of things he didn’t like, he knew what to do without thinking too much about it.

Brian opened the box, and found lots of white stars. Some where smaller, others bigger. They were made out of glittery plastic. A sticky glue in a little flask was also there, but Brian didn’t notice it. He was too busy taking a handful of stars between his hands, and regarding them.

“So pretty!” He exclaimed, smiling like a child.

“This is the best part.” Roger took one of them, put some glue on one of its sides, and threw it to the ceiling. The star attached to it immediately. Brian was confused at first, but he understood what was happening the moment Roger turned off the lights.

The star shone, with a subtle gleam. The guitarist glanced at it like he had seen the most astonishing thing ever, with his lips half parted, and his boyfriend loved that sight. Brian didn’t care about the darkness anymore.

Then, they started to put glue on every star and fill the room with them. They giggled like mischievous kids trying not to be discovered, not really sure if they were supposed to be modifying the room in this way. It didn’t really matter, the only thing that mattered was that they were happy. Having a good time, like in the old days, doing silly things.

“Beautiful.” Brian said, as he looked up once they had finished. The whole ceiling was glowing, and a few stars on the walls added to that feeling of being under an observatory’s dome.

He did remember some things about astrophysics, one of his passions. He had studied so much for his PhD that he couldn’t just forget it, no matter how damaged his brain was. It still fascinated him, all about the great mess that composed the universe. Such a curious soul couldn’t stay on Earth, he had to investigate what was farther away. He wanted to know all about those things that floated into what seemed to be an infinite darkness. A proper astrophysicist shouldn’t be scared of the dark, but want to explore it.

“Happy birthday, honey.”

Brian smiled in response, and indicated Roger to get closer. Then, he kissed his cheek, and took the silver bow that was still on Roger’s head to put it on the box.

-

_“You’ll love this, I know it.”_

_Brian and Roger were sitting on their bed, still on their formal clothes, facing each other. They had just came back from Freddie’s house, where he had hosted a wonderful dinner for Brian’s birthday. Lots of people had assisted, and it had been a night to remember. Colourful lights, music, and a delicious cake John and Winnie had made. Ruth was there, too, and she had danced like she was twenty years old. Many friends and artists went to wish the guitarist a happy birthday, and he had received a great amount of gifts. The most important one wasn’t given yet, and Brian’s curiosity was at a whole new level._

_Roger had been thinking about this gift for a long time. It had to be memorable, special, and it needed to be unique. He had to win this year, and his creativity wasn’t at its peak. It didn’t make much sense. He could write songs and compose music, but he couldn’t think of a proper gift. He was fairly disappointed on himself_.

_He had an idea, an old idea that had been scrapped a few times already, still ringing on the back of his mind. Buried deep down under his thoughts, it had come up a few years earlier. If it wasn’t because of that little insecurity that held him back, Roger would have given Brian that special treasure a long time ago._

_He had thought about it for the first time in 1973. They were watching a movie hugging like they always did, on the couch, just after having an argument about some trivial, unimportant thing. They could fight over something, get angry at each other, say sorry and reconcile in such a short span of time it was almost a world record. Their arguments weren’t frequent, and they just couldn’t stay angry for too long before they started to miss each other and regret everything they had said._

_Roger wasn’t really watching the movie, he was watching Brian. He didn’t notice it, he seemed too focused on the film’s plot to realize his boyfriend was staring at him. The man found the right girl, and after whispering some sweet words to her, he was now proposing. Brian kept muttering things like ‘how sweet’, and grinning. He didn’t stop hugging Roger, who snuggled on his chest._

_It was illegal, and it wasn’t going to be legal any time soon, either. Two men marrying each other was a crazy thing to think about, a horrifying thing for many. It would never happen, it was simply impossible. They were lucky they weren’t in jail because of the 1967 legalization of homosexuality, so asking for a formal compromise was just asking too much._

_Then, Roger forgot about the legal aspect of it and thought about the meaning of that little gold jewel. Maybe the law wouldn’t recognize them as a couple, but they didn’t need the law to give them permission to love each other. They could have those rings just as a special thing, a materialization of their bond. Nobody could know who that ring belonged to anyways, nobody but them. It had been a recurring idea, and Roger had never found the courage to go and do it. He didn’t know if Brian was thinking about something similar, but it was unlikely. He was too shy and reserved, and way more insecure than Roger. It showed when he got jealous and protective because of insignificant things. Roger always tried to make Brian love himself a little more, and he never seemed to succeed in it._

_The drummer shook his head and went back to the present moment. He saw his lover glancing at him with his characteristic curiosity, Roger’s sight being embellished by Brian’s tangled hair, his unbuttoned shirt that let some of his skin exposed, and the soft curve of his thin lips_.

_“Close your eyes.” Roger requested, with a playful tone._

_Brian smiled, and followed his boyfriend’s instructions without hesitation. He trusted him with his life. Roger could have been holding a sword to his neck, and Brian would still close his eyes if his boyfriend asked him to._

_“Alright, and now...?” He continued smiling, now even more curious. He wanted to know what all this was about as soon as possible._

_“Don’t be so impatient.” Roger teased, and chuckled._

_He breathed deeply and held Brian’s left hand. The little black box didn’t hold both rings anymore. Roger’s one was still in it, but the other was now gently sliding onto Brian’s finger. It fitted perfectly, almost like it was made specifically for his hand._

_The guitarist opened his eyes when he felt that foreign sensation, and Roger looked up to meet those hazel irises that were now filled with surprise._

_“Roger...” He whispered, astonished. His voice sent chills through Roger’s body, making him chuckle. Brian observed his hand, and smiled again. Roger took the little box and gave it to his lover._

_“They have the same inscription.” The younger musician added, awkwardly. He felt too silly and cheesy. “Well, almost. My ring has your name, and your ring has my name.”_

_He took the tiny treasure from the box, and read it out loud under the dim light._

_“Let’s see... ‘True love never fades away.’” He didn’t wait and put it on Roger’s ring finger._

_“We can’t marry, but they are pretty, aren’t they?” The drummer asked, and his lover was still too impressed to answer._

_“I don’t know what to say.” Brian confessed, feeling a little dumb and grinning like he had never did before._

_“You don’t have to say anything.”_

Roger extended his arm, to touch Brian’s side of the bed, expecting to find him there, and hear him complaining about his boyfriend waking him up. He didn't find him. 

Thunder.

He threw his blankets away and immediately rushed to the other side of the bedroom, tripping and almost falling to the floor because he wasn’t using his crutches. He didn’t have time to look for them, he needed to check the wardrobe. Right _now_.

He was having nightmares. They started slowly, after his insomnia faded away. He would see himself sitting at the table, next to the window, the morning of July the 2nd. He would see Brian cutting strawberries, hug him and caress his hair. Hear him laughing, kiss him. Then, the trip to Oxford would follow, and Roger would wake up just before the crash. He woke up trembling slightly, but he had gotten used to it after the first week.

However, those nightmares had evolved to become _night terrors_. He couldn’t recall everything that happened in them, but they were more than horrifying. His mind was playing with his sanity way too much, testing his limits.

He dreamt that Brian never woke up. That he kept sleeping forever as his brain slowly died, that he never opened his eyes again, he never squeezed Roger’s hand, and he stopped breathing after a long coma. One that lasted years, an eternity. He dreamed he never got to say goodbye, and Harold won the trial, putting Roger in jail to rot. Or even worse, he dreamt that Brian never made it to the hospital, that he had lost so much blood he didn’t stand a chance. That the ambulance came too late, and the dense fog blinded him forever.

Those dreams were so vivid, Roger sometimes woke up thinking they were the actual reality. He felt like he was at the edge of a crisis, almost falling into it, until he calmed down and realized it was just a dream. And he didn’t want to tell anyone about these episodes, he didn’t want to be declared unstable and not being able to see Brian again. He kept everything in quiet desperation, a silent secret.

He had seen his reflection staring back at him in the bathroom’s mirror, like when he left the hospital, at late hours for some days in a row. Maybe a couple too many days in a row. His hair above his right ear was growing back, reminding him how time was passing by.

He opened the wardrobe’s door in a quick movement, and dropped the floor lamp that stood next to it in the process. It fell to the floor, crashing the light bulb, but Roger didn’t care about it at the moment. He threw away the contents of the closet, managing to stand up, looking for the little black box.

The window was open, and it was raining outside. The curtain moved around as water fell staining the wall, ruining its paint. They had painted that bedroom together, and now the water was erasing a part of their work just like Roger wanted his nightmares to be erased.He kept looking for the gift, standing on his healthy leg.

The box was still there, hidden at the back, under those clothes that were never used. The rings were intact, in the exact same position the drummer had left them a month ago.

Roger looked at the clock. Three twenty in the morning, 19th of July. Brian’s birthday came to his mind. He recalled his lover’s words, ‘ _please, come back tomorrow’_ , and the helplessness of his voice. His beautiful voice, that was always so melodic.

Roger glanced at the window, at the mess he had made, and at the box in his hand. At the drawer’s key, and at his own feet. He couldn’t continue standing up, and sat on the floor. His leg was hurting, probably because he had forced himself too much.

He couldn't decide if this was better or _worse_ than a night terror.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed, and brought a trembling hand to his forehead. This whole situation was staring to really scare him. They weren’t just nightmares anymore. His mind was betraying him just when he needed it the most, like someone stabbing him in the back when he turned around.

He looked at the little black box once again, and held it tight, close to his heart. The thunder and rain outside were still claiming the sky, making a grey blur out of it. He was scared of it. It was too similar to the thunder that had place during Queen’s trip to Oxford.

His vision got blurry, and he was crying for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

“Brian, _please_ , come back home.”


	11. Chapter 11

Roger yawned, and rested his chin on one hand as he closed his eyes. He was at the table, occupying his usual spot next to the window inside the rather tiny kitchen, while John and Freddie argued about what type of tea was better. Roger’s cup was in front of him, and his tea had already gotten cold. He didn’t feel like drinking it anyway. He was slowly slipping into unconsciousness due to his stressful night, and Deaky didn’t take long to notice it.

“Did you sleep last night?” John asked, as Freddie sat down in front of Roger at the other side of the table, in Brian’s place. “You look exhausted.”

“Not much.” The drummer admitted, rubbing his eyes and yawning again.

He didn’t want to give explanations. He didn’t want to recall that dream, it had been too much for him. His friends had no clue about the special gift that was now in the drawer with Brian’s notes, and Roger wasn’t going to tell them any time soon. Not because he didn’t want them to know it, they probably had their suspicions by now, but because he wasn’t sure if that ring was ever going to be delivered to its owner.

He stared at his cup, blankly. His bandmates looked at each other, visibly concerned.

“Roger?”

“I’m okay John, I’m just tired. I’ll take a shower, that will wake me up.”

He was going to stand up, but he realized that his crutches were too far away from his reach. The nurses would be mad at him if he told them he had been walking without them. His legs still hurt because of that early morning’s events. He wished he hadn’t dreamed anything, but at the same time he was grateful. He hadn’t had a happy dream in a long time, and even tough waking up was painful, he had enjoyed his fantasy while it lasted.

“You called me John, so there’s definitely something wrong.” Deaky tried to lighten the atmosphere and get a smile from his friend, but he didn’t succeed. Roger’s mind seemed to be somewhere else, as his eyes continued staring at his cup of tea.

“I’m fine, everything’s alright.” He answered, his voice traveling down as he spoke, giving away the truth.

“You don’t have to lie, dear.” Freddie took a delicate sip from his cup. “We know you too well, you can’t fool us.”

Roger rested his head on the table, like he was ready to sleep there. He didn’t need another one of Freddie’s speeches about how he had been acting weird lately, he was too tired to hear him. The drummer closed his eyes for a second time.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He whispered.

“You never want to talk about anything!” The singer complained, leaving his cup on the table to throw his hands in the air in his usual dramatic gesturing. Roger’s attitude bothered him, but his behaviour was justified. He couldn’t be mad at the drummer, he was going through an insane amount of emotional pain. Freddie couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would feel being in his shoes. “Tell us Goldie, what’s wrong?”

Roger sighed, annoyed. Freddie waited for a response. John didn’t want to push his friend and make him feel pressured, but he wanted an answer too. Roger was indirectly obliged to reply, so he looked up and explained what happened with the simplest phrase he could came up with.

“I just... had a dream.”

His friends assumed it was a nightmare, like the ones he had experienced in the past. He never went into too much detail when he told his friends about them and didn’t let them know about the brief anxiety attacks he suffered when he woke up, so his bandmates didn’t thought it was something to worry about. John rubbed Rogers’ back and gently tried to comfort him.

“It’s alright Roggie, it was just a dream.” Deaky said, in his fatherly voice that was always so kind and gentle. Roger appreciated the effort, but those words made him feel even worse. The drummer continued gazing at his cup, with the same blank stare.

Just a dream. He never got to give Brian his special gift. He hadn’t had a wonderful birthday party, they never went back home together with Brian asking about his gift every five seconds and trying to guess what it was. He never opened the wardrobe and took the little black box, while Brian stayed with his eyes closed. He never saw him reading the inscription engraved in gold. Roger didn’t put that ring on his finger, and Brian never put that ring on Roger’s finger. It was _just a dream_.

“That’s the problem.” He covered his face with his hands. He didn’t want to cry and he wasn’t going to do that now. It made him feel weak, and that was probably the feeling he hated the most. He couldn’t allow himself to be weak, he had to be strong. And everyone told him he was strong, indeed, but he didn’t believe them. He wasn’t unbreakable.

John just hugged him. He wasn’t the best when it came to words, but his hugs were certainly a good way of helping. Freddie joined in too, and they stayed there until Roger pushed them away. He wasn’t so sad anymore, but his bright smile wasn’t back either.

“So, are you going to put on some decent clothes or what?” Freddie asked, seeing Roger still in his pyjamas with his messy blond hair falling over it.

“I’m not going anywhere today.” The drummer said, as he drank the cold tea from his cup. “What’s the point?”

“Not going anywhere?” The singer exclaimed, like Roger had said something extremely stupid. Then he continued with his dramatic gestures, moving his hair from left to right. “It’s Bri’s birthday!”

“He’s with his parents, Fred.” Roger reminded him, suppressing his desire to sigh in disappointment.

“You can go and say hi without them noticing.” He winked, and John glanced at him. Freddie’s plans tended to be crazy, but maybe this was a little too much. Deaky wasn’t sure if it was going to work or finish with someone injured. 

“No, Fred.” Roger said. “I have enough with just one broken leg.”

Freddie had already decided he was going to get away with his intentions, and get Roger to see Brian even if it implied that the singer had to distract Harold with something. And he was going to semi-oblige Deaky into helping him, as he always did.

“Come on, I know you miss him already.” Freddie insisted, knowing that his friend was going to give in at some point. “And he wants to see you.”

“Did he ask you to visit him today?” John inquired.

“He did, but I don’t think he knows how much his father hates me.” He rested his head on his right hand again. “I don’t want to cause problems, really.”

Freddie moved his eyebrows up and down, and Deaky giggled. He wasn’t convinced that Freddie’s plan would function. There was a chance that it just caused more trouble than there was already, but they knew Roger wanted to see Brian. Birthdays were always special dates, and having been with the guitarist for his seven previous birthdays it would be a shame to lose the eight occasion.

“We’ll make sure Harold doesn’t notice.” Freddie assured, smiling widely and nudging John. Deaky nodded with a hint of doubt. “Leave it to us.”

Roger sighed again. His friends were right. He couldn’t ignore Brian’s request and his words repeated themselves in his mind, ‘ _please, come back tomorrow’_. It was too much of a sweet and tender request to be ignored. Without saying a word, Roger took his crutches, stood up, and went to his bedroom to dress up. Freddie giggled, getting away with his plans once again, as John rolled his eyes and laughed softly.

-

“As you can see, he does recognise you.” Alexandra smiled, while Ruth and Harold looked at their son, who could finally sit up but was still dizzy and sleepy because of the pain medications. “Do you, Brian?”

The guitarist glanced at his parents. They were his entire family, as he was an only child and his grandparents had died a long time ago. It would be their worst nightmare if their only son didn’t know who they were, and he hadn’t talked much in front of them. Brian was a lot more vocal when Roger was around, it seemed like he actually made an effort to speak. However, the moment Roger closed the door after leaving, Brian went silent again and would only speak if it was entirely necessary. And sometimes, he wouldn’t mutter a word even if it was needed.

He blinked a few times, focused in pronouncing the words correctly, and said his response. “Mum and Father.”

The contrast was more than evident. He hadn’t called his father ‘ _dad_ ’ since he left his home when he was eighteen years old. Their relationship was cold, and Ruth detested that. She just wanted the early years back, those years during Brian’s childhood when he was a little spoiled boy and liked to read stories before going to sleep, and watch the stars through the window. Harold used to take Brian in his arms and lift him up to see, as he was too short to clearly observe the sky without a little help.

“Excellent.” Alexandra wrote some positive observations on her notebook.

Brian felt weird about that. He had tried to read and write, and he somewhat knew that he was able to do those things, very basic things, but he couldn’t. The letters looked familiar to him, but he didn’t have the ability to read. On the other hand, his coordination was a complete disaster and he couldn’t even hold a pen properly. He had seen Roger’s worried eyes watching him as he tried to interpret a simple phrase, and that made him uneasy. He didn’t want to disappoint Roger, he was always so nice to him, and he couldn’t return the favour by just reading a five word sentence.

He knew he had to give himself time. They had explained to him what happened, even though he couldn’t understand half of it and didn’t remember anything about the famous accident everyone seemed to be so aware of. Slowly, certain emotions were starting to show up and claim his attention. He started to ask himself why everyone could do so many things he couldn’t. He was starting to feel _useless_.

Freddie had intervened already. He had had a word with Alexandra, and explained the situation to her. He convinced her to distract Brian’s parents for just a few minutes, so Roger could enter safely and wish his boyfriend a happy birthday. Freddie avoided that detail about their relationship, and told Alexandra they were just close friends. The nurse was hesitant but Freddie could persuade her, so she acceded to distract them for a while.

“I would like to have a word with you, if you got a minute.” The nurse said. Ruth and Harold nodded, said to Brian that they would be back soon, and followed her outside. They closed the door.

Brian frowned seeing them walk. He wanted to do that, too, but his legs wouldn’t respond well. He could barely sit properly on the mattress.

The guitarist sighed, and just when he was going to lay down again, someone pushed the door just a bit and peeked in.

Brian’s eyes seemed to light up as he saw Roger trying to be as sneaky and silent as possible while closing the door again behind him. His usual clumsiness was accentuated by his limited movement.

“I feel like a secret agent.” He walked up to Brian, while chuckling slightly. He sat down and carefully left his crutches aside without making any noise. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“You are here.” The guitarist sounded surprised, and Roger chuckled again. He noticed Brian was sitting up, something that was pretty difficult for him. He felt proud of his boyfriend, and continued grinning.

“Yes, I am.” He said, reaching for his boyfriends hands. Brian didn’t seem to mind. “Did you have fun with those stars?”

“No lights.” He said proudly, and if it were Alexandra who he was talking to, she wouldn’t have understood. For Roger, it was more than obvious what his lover meant.

“Oh, so you slept with the lights off?” The drummer squeezed his hands, and Brian didn’t stop smiling. “You’re so brave.”

Meanwhile, Freddie waited outside the door and John looked at the hallway. They had promised to tell Roger when his time was over, and they didn’t want to be seen by Brian’s family either. After all, in Harold’s eyes they were nothing more than Roger’s evil minions. And as a whole, they were the reason why Brian wasn’t working as a teacher in some fancy university or as a research scientist for the government. They were the reason why Brian had ‘ _thrown his education out the window’_.

Alexandra kept Ruth and Harold busy for fifteen minutes or so, showing them different analyses of their son’s condition. Brian did have the capacity to relearn what he had forgotten, and establish new connections between neurons, but it wasn’t an easy task. He would need therapy and rehabilitation for years, and they couldn’t guarantee he would recover completely. The damage hadn’t been as severe as the doctors initially thought it was, just a little _worse_ than expected. Some nurses hadn’t seen someone with such shaky movements until Brian was interned.

“Roger, say goodbye!” Freddie opened the door, and Brian looked at him. He did remember Freddie, as well as Deaky. His memories were blurred, but he couldn’t forget the singer’s way of chanting his exclamations. “Happy birthday, dear! Hope you like the blond gift I brought for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep him.” Brian said, and Roger giggled. The drummer noticed how his boyfriend’s sentence was properly structured and sounded perfectly normal, and that tiny detail made him even more proud of Brian.

“Come on, it’s time to go.” Freddie insisted. “If they ask, you didn’t see Roger today.”

“Why?” The guitarist asked, not wanting to let go of Roger’s hands. It was curious how their roles had been inverted, and now Brian was the one that didn’t want the visit to end. 

“We’ll explain it to you next time, dear... Oh, don’t do that puppy face."

“Chaps?” John waved from the door and wished Brian a happy birthday, and the guitarist wanted to wave back. He couldn’t, so he just smiled.“Hurry up.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Roger whispered, hugging Brian carefully.

His every movement became extremely cautious when he was around Brian. The guitarist couldn’t be exposed to too much light, loud noises, or repentine visual stimuli, so he had to be careful. They hadn’t hugged in a while, and Roger had missed that too much. He had to do it because Brian was too weak to hug him back, but he knew his boyfriend enjoyed it. He always liked to be close, feel skin touching skin, hearing Roger’s heartbeat and smelling the sweet fragrance of his hair. The drummer would always remind him of how weird that was, but he enjoyed it too.

“You promise?” Brian whispered back.

“I promise.” 

Freddie and John went out as soon as they could, and Roger followed them. Harold and Ruth entered their son’s room without knowing Roger had been there.

Alexandra looked at the hallway and saw him. Roger made a shushing gesture and crossed the exit. She smiled and pretended she didn’t see him.

They spent the rest of the visiting hours reading with Brian, remembering him of funny events that had happened in the past, and sharing a fairly normal day. Normal days had become a treasure, and they were more than happy to spend a few hours with their son even though they were in a hospital’s room. Brian showed them the starts that illuminated covered the ceiling and walls, and Ruth gave him a blanket she had made by herself as a birthday present.

“I forgot to thank you for those stars. A really good idea, Brian absolutely loves them.” Harold said while shaking the nurse’s hand, before leaving.

The nurse looked at him with confusion as he turned around and walked away, holding hands with his wife.


	12. Chapter 12

“Fred, I’m not going.”

The drummer covered himself with the white sheets and heavy blankets again, and his friends were starting to lose their patience. They had arrived more than two hours ago, and they couldn’t talk Roger into voluntarily leaving his bed and getting ready for his first visit to the psychologist. He was starting to think that, maybe, giving the house’s key to Freddie and John wasn’t a good idea after all. Roger held the blankets strongly, as if they were his last hopes of survival, and Deaky tried to pull them away from him like a mother trying to convince her son to prepare to go to school, early in the morning.

It was almost five in the afternoon, and Roger wasn’t supposed to be sleeping. He didn’t want to go, and he thought he could get away with it by tiring his friends enough so they wouldn’t force him and just leave. However, Freddie proved to be way more persistent than he seemed to be regarding this matter. He was behaving just like when they recorded, not giving up to get what he wanted, and he didn’t care much he had to insist for Roger to surrender. They would fight a lot at the studio when they recorded, but now neither of them wanted to have an argument. Either way, Roger still behaved in his usual infantile matter and Freddie wasn't giving up. 

“Come on Rog, it’ll make you feel better.” The singer said, helping John to take the sheets and put them far from Roger’s reach. The drummer looked up at him with a childish expression of protest, as he was now sitting at the middle of the blanket-less mattress. The patch on his head that didn’t have hair a little over two weeks ago, just above his right ear, was covered by short and tangled blond locks he hadn’t combed since the previous day.  

“You can’t force me, you aren’t my mother.” He exclaimed, frowning. “Now stop trying, because I won’t go.”

“Do you want me to call Winnie and ask for her opinion?” Deaky said, playfully. Roger wasn’t in the mood for jokes, and he didn’t found the bassist’s words funny. The drummer knew she was completely in favour of Freddie’s idea and wanted Roger to get professional assistance, and that made matters more difficult because he couldn’t hide under his mother’s wing like when he was a small and spoiled child. 

“I said I’m not going. That’s all there is to it.” He didn’t plan to give in any time soon, much to his friends’ dismay. They had tried everything to convince the drummer, and it was more than tiring to just get a negative answer every time. However, they weren’t going to give up. They knew Roger needed professional help, even though he didn’t want it. Roger laid down, and the big mattress made him look tiny in comparison. He moved his hair away from his face as his eyes watched the ceiling. “I just want to see Bri.”

“It’s not our fault that the visiting hours of the hospital and your consult begin and end at the same time.” Freddie sighed. It was probably another reason why Roger already hated going to consults even though he hadn’t even went to the first one. He couldn’t be at two places at the same time, so he wouldn’t see his boyfriend for the entire day and that made him even more annoying than Normal. Brian had always had a sort of calming effect on the scandalous and undisciplined young musician he had as a lover. 

“Roger, we’re just trying to help you, and a psychologist can assist you in ways we can’t.” John explained, sweetly, but his friend wasn’t convinced. He continued looking them with distrust and a hint of fear. He knew they weren't going to harm him, but he was truly afraid of what the outcome of his first visit to therapy could be. 

He had heard, and even _met_ , people who got locked in mental hospitals because of post-traumatic stress. Roger wasn't sure of how serious the damage to his own sanity was, but he was sure he was going to get diagnosed due to his clear symptoms. He could lie to the psychologist and tell him everything was alright, but those professionals could read between lines in a way other people couldn't. He didn't want to be put in a remote place to stay away from his boyfriend. He couldn't even think about abandoning him now. 

“You can’t avoid the road forever.” Freddie added in an accusatory tone, already losing his patience, and the drummer growled. John looked at Freddie disapprovingly for ruining his attempts to be gentle and kind with his incriminating voice. 

Roger had certain triggers, which evoked vivid memories of the accident and often caused him to have anxious breakdowns. Nobody never thought they would see the day Roger feared getting  _near_ a car, not after he had written and defended a whole song about how much he loved those machines. That evening he spent in a cupboard yelling at Freddie for not liking his song seemed to be so close, like it was yesterday, and now he didn’t want cars to be even mentioned. He also said he wouldn’t drive ever again, and started to dislike one of the nicknames Freddie called him quite often: ‘ _racer boy’_.

He would jump slightly when he heard thunder. He had never been scared of it before. Roger used to hug his younger sister when she run up to him saying she had heard it, and he would help her to remain calm. They called thunder, those loud and intimidating noises, ‘ _angry sky monsters_ ’, and they used to make up stories about great beasts with magical powers that were mad at humans and tried to attack them with their superior abilities. Clare could recall those days clearly. She hadn’t seen her brother in a few months and couldn’t visit him when the accident happened, but she was probably going to be heartbroken when she learnt that her personal white knight wasn’t going to fight the ‘ _sky monsters_ ’ anymore.

When he remembered the accident and closed his eyes he could recall seeing  _blood_ , in its clear red colour, and the crystals of the broken windscreen scattered across the black seats of his Alfa Romeo. He thought it would go away with time and acted as if nothing was happening, a very English thing to do. He didn’t want to be the focus of attention, everyone should be looking after Brian. The guitarist needed that help, and as Roger thought, he was worthy of those efforts way more than Roger himself. He was the reason why all this happened in the first place, so in his own head he was deserving of all the pain he was going through. He deserved even a more than that. 

As a result of his increasing anxiety, he was smoking a lot more than before. Brian wouldn’t be happy with that.

“And you can’t avoid cars, thunderstorms, and all the things that make you remember the accident.” John continued, agreeing with Freddie. He was more patient than the singer, and it showed in his voice’s calmness. He got closer to Roger and offered him a hand, as he needed a little help to get up. He disregarded that gesture and looked away, it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it, but he didn’t want to give in. He looked at the clock. He just had to keep up this game for half an hour and he would miss his consult. 

“Rog my dear, please-“ Freddie was interrupted by the drummer, who was still scared to go but didn’t want to show it. His friends could read him like an open book most of the time, so they were aware of what he was feeling. Another place, another time, Freddie would have simply dragged Roger to their destination while he was still wearing his pyjamas. He was unusually patient this time, mostly because of Deaky’s influence.

“I won’t talk about emotions and those things with some weird lad.” Roger stated, looking for a pillow to hug due to the bed’s lack of sheets or blankets.

“You talk about them with Brian all the time, this isn’t too different!” Freddie exclaimed. Roger threw the pillow at him, and the singer laughed at his terrible aim. He wasn’t even close to hitting his friend.

“Don’t be so childish. “ Deaky said, and Roger glanced at him with angriness. He _hated_ being called childish, it remembered him of his worst times at East Polytechnic. John stepped back, and quickly corrected himself after noticing the little mistake he had made. “Okay, you aren’t childish, you are stubborn. Too stubborn, in fact.”

“Get up.” Freddie demanded.

“No.” Roger responded.

“You’ll go whether you like it or not, dear.” The singer proceeded to approach Roger as if he was going to take his friend into his arms and just carry him to psychotherapy.

“Wait!” He cried, shielding himself with his hands. “Seriously, I don’t want to, please don’t make me. I’ll do anything, but _please_ don’t force me to go, I can’t do it.” Roger looked down towards the end of his begging making Freddie glance at Deaky, searching for some help.  

“You just have to sit down and chat for an hour or so, you can do it.” John said, grinning slightly.

“He’s gonna make me remember how awful all this really is.” Roger preferred to review the events that led to their situation as little as possible. He was already being reminded of everything by his mind, which managed to make him see and focus on the worst of it late at night, when he was alone and couldn’t escape those thoughts. “I just can’t go there.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, we know you can.” Freddie assured him. He truly believed in Roger and his ability to overcome all that pain. He had seen him facing difficult situations and getting out of them with a smile, and he wanted to see Roger do exactly the same now. “It just takes courage, and you have plenty of that.”

“Come on Roggie, we promise it’ll make everything better.” Deaky offered a hand to him again, and his friend looked at it still doubting. “Trust us, we want only what’s best for our stubborn Goldie.”

“If it was bad for you, do you think we would be trying to drag you there?” Freddie wanted Roger to reason for a moment, and understand their intentions. They would never attempt to harm him in any way, they were doing the exact opposite. “We just want to help, so let us help you.”

Roger saw himself trapped, with no other option than to give in. Without further ado, he finally accepted Deaky’s hand. Freddie smiled victoriously and proceeded to give him his crutches.

“We’ll be back in no time!” The singer chanted, and that made a half smile appear on Roger’s face.

“You better compensate me with ice cream or something.” The drummer said in his protesting tone, and his friends laughed.

“We will, dear.”

-

The most intimidating detail of that whole new experience was, for Roger, finding himself standing in front of the door he had to open in order to begin a new phase of his recovery. He had already filled in some paperwork, and now all that was left was just get in and start his first session.

If Freddie and Deaky thought he needed therapy that desperately, maybe there was something seriously wrong with him. Maybe he didn’t fit in anymore, maybe he wasn’t going to be back to normal ever again. That made him feel a deep sadness, a fear of disappointing his friends and family, and for the first time ever, fear society’s opinion. Was he going to be regarded as an irresponsible, violent man for the rest of his life? He didn’t want to harm anyone’s image by just existing. Winnie and Michael deserved a good son, Queen deserved a good drummer, Freddie and Deaky deserved a good friend, and Brian deserved a good lover. He wasn’t sure if he could fulfil those roles properly again.

Roger found the courage to open the door.

The psychiatrist seemed to be a nice and light-heated person. His name was David. He could see how nervous Roger was, and attempted to make the session as easy and enjoyable as possible. They talked about the drummer’s childhood and life before the accident, looking for some clues of previous traumatising events. David was fascinated with his patient's musical career, even though he hadn’t heard of Queen up to that session. Roger proudly told him about his bandmates and their talents, and their great contribution to rock music.

Roger didn't want to, but the accident had to be talked about. The conversation wasn’t as entertaining anymore, and the drummer's initial insecurity started to show up again. He kept his answers short when he had to respond to questions, and avoided talking about what kind of relationship he really had with Brian. He told his doctor that they were close friends for many years now, and lived together. However, the therapist couldn’t be fooled that easily and clearly saw that there was something more, even though he couldn't exactly tell what their bond really was. He didn’t comment on it, as he didn’t want to make Roger uncomfortable.  

The session became unbearably long for Roger, but he managed to keep himself together and avoid getting overwhelmed by the unintentionally painful questions he had to answer. He didn’t respond to all of them, and stayed silent when he found it necessary. His doctor respected that, and less than an hour after staring the session David decided it was time to finish it. Roger felt relieved, said goodbye to his psychiatrist, and left knowing he would have to come back some time in the near future. That wasn’t encouraging or motivational.

When he left, he had a prescription. He held the paper with his right hand, and it stayed there until he got back home after a rather long walk, in which he didn't mutter a single word. He was kind of still processing everything that had happened. When they arrived, he sat down at the sofa and rested his leg above the coffee table. If Brian was there, he would have told him to not do that.

“How did it go?” Freddie inquired, sitting down at his friend’s right. 

“Is everything alright?” John looked at Roger, and sat at his left. He noticed the drummer was still holding the paper. “Can we see?”

“Roger?” Freddie sounded a bit desperate. “Please?”

“Just read.” The blond sighed, and gave his prescription to John. His friends did what they were told, and immediately understood their bandmate’s behaviour.

It was the first time they came across the term _‘post-traumatic stress_ ’. For Roger, it wasn’t as foreign. He had studied it before, and he remembered feeling pity for those who suffered and thinking he would never experience such a thing.

“He wants to see me again in a week or so.”

He had been prescribed antidepressants, and he had never been on that type of medication before. Taking pills at a determined hour every day seemed so strange, and he hadn’t thought he would have to do it being so young. Roger saw the medications as evidence he wasn’t as strong as he should be, rather than a tool to help him to get back to restore his mind. 

“I don’t have time for this. I want to be there for Bri.” He said. Roger could be childish and annoying, but he was truly selfless and so loving it made his friends' hearts melt. He still didn’t put himself at the top of his priority list, and even though it was a noble thing to do, it wasn’t the best way of thinking. 

“You have to take care of yourself, dear.” Freddie squished Roger’s cheeks. So many things had changed in the drummer’s mind, so his body - and more specifically, his chubby cheeks - was probably the only thing that remained unmodified. “That’s important, although you don’t want to admit it.”

"If you don't take care of yourself, we'll have to push you to do it." John said.

"You don't want to fight us, do you?" Freddie inquired, and Roger didn't respond. He stayed silent, gaining a hug from his bandmates, who seemed to be trying to squeeze him as much as they could. 

“You are not alone.” Deaky reminded his friend of that undeniable truth, smiling. “We are with you, remember?”

“I know.” The drummer responded.

“And we love you, even though you’re stubborn and capricious as fuck.” Freddie faked an angry tone, and Roger smiled.

“Can we get ice cream now?” John asked, and Freddie laughed. They helped Roger to get up, and went for some chocolate ice cream to compensate the drummer for his good behaviour. It was a motive for celebration.


	13. Chapter 13

Brian was having a hard time trying to focus his eyes again, sitting up and glancing at the door that had just been closed after the nurse left. He frowned at the fact he couldn’t see anything more than a white blur. He was starting to dislike _white_ in itself. It had become a dull and unexplainable annoying colour for him.

Brian had just went through another of his routine examinations. They would check his blood pressure, get disappointed when seeing his oxygen levels weren’t high enough to disconnect the ventilator, ask him a few questions, make sure he wasn’t having problems to breathe, do some other tests, and leave him alone until the next evaluation had to be done, about three hours later. The revisions were constant, as they had to keep track of the patient’s stats to avoid another deep state of unconsciousness to take over his body.

He had tried to eat like a regular person again, but it was way more difficult that it seemed. The doctors had removed the tube that was used to feed him, only to be met with the unpleasant discovery that Brian couldn’t swallow. The muscles needed to do it weren’t responding as expected. They had to insert the tube again, and the process of sliding it down his throat had been one of the most traumatic experiences the guitarist had ever went through. The first time they did it he was unconscious, so he didn’t notice. He wished he hadn’t been awake and aware for the second occasion. Not because it hurt, it was a pretty disgusting sensation but not a painful one. What made him uneasy was the realization of how dependent and incapable he had become. Of how his entire existence relied on that translucent tube, on the ventilator that rested on the floor at his left side, the cardiac monitor and a whole team of professionals.

He did remember events before suffering the stroke that took away his normal motor functionality, even though he couldn’t recall the accident and the events that led to it. He did remember to eat, and to cut little slices of sweet fruit while Roger told him he should eat chocolate more often. It was so frustrating to know that he had been able to do it in the past, but lost his ability because of an accident he didn’t have memory of. It felt ridiculously unfair. It _was_ ridiculously unfair, how his independence had been taken away, along with his ability to walk, hold a pencil, or even get up. He was stuck on that mattress, bored beyond anyone’s comprehension, confused and curious for how the wind made the trees outside of the hospital look like when it made their leaves move, and how the sunshine would feel like on his skin during a warm summer day. He didn’t remember that particular sensation, either.

Eventually, his vision could return back to normal and allow him to look down. Resting on the white blanket, Brian almost felt like the book could stare back at him. It was the source of his current frustration, the reason he had to sigh in disappointment just like the doctors had done a few minutes ago, seeing Brian would remain connected to the ventilator for an undetermined amount of time. He scratched its cover, just a green surface with nothing particularly interesting in it. The only things that stood out where a couple letters written delicately, with thin golden lines. Brian looked at them condescendingly. How could a few lines be so important and stupidly impossible to understand?

He had been making his greatest efforts to read. However, they weren’t enough. And for Brian, being just as demanding with himself as he was before the accident, it was completely unacceptable.

The teacher of the unit would enter the room and greet him with her adorable voice, a high-pitched but melodic sound. She was kind and patient, often called to work with little children. It wasn’t the first time for her to be attending a grown man, but for Brian it was still weird. She tried to make him feel comfortable and ask him about what he could remember about their last meeting. Then, she would proceed to explain all the matters that concerned the learning of the alphabet. Each and every sound, how they were related to certain letters, and how those letters were formed. She would take her notebook and write them to demonstrate. During those classes, Brian had been able to read some short sentences, or just random words that weren’t overly complicated. The teacher would congratulate him, inform her superiors about it, say goodbye and leave.

By the next occasion, Brian would have forgotten almost everything about the previous class. He couldn’t think of any other words than _immensely_ _frustrated_ to describe how he felt. Just when he thought he was going to be able to move on and open the book to actually make some progress, he would find himself lost while looking at the first sentence of the first paragraph. And that situation repeated itself again and again, always turning out the same way, and it all seemed pointless.

Everyone wanted Brian to relearn all the things that made him _Brian_. His mother had told him that he had learnt to read when he was four years old, and to write when he was five. That he loved fantasy books, and discovered his passion for science while flipping the pages of his first book on the formation of stars. Freddie had told him about his love for music, and even made him listen to some songs made by their band. Roger used to sing them instead, and it sounded so familiar. It was unexplainably strange to know that Brian himself had been a guitarist in the past, and even remember how he had to position his fingers for some chords, when at the same time it all seemed completely foreign and new to him. Now, with his shortened vocabulary and difficulty to articulate himself, it was upsetting to not be able to explain that sensation to anyone. He felt alone, misunderstood. Knowing he wasn’t going to go home soon wasn’t motivating him, either.

His biggest problem didn’t rely on recalling past remembrances. Even though there were big blurred patches or empty spaces between events, he was able to recognize people and their role in his life with no major complications. He knew Harold and Ruth were his parents, but he didn’t know how their relationship with them was like. He knew John and Freddie were his friends for some reason, and he knew Roger was his long-time partner, and everything was covered under that thin veil of uncertainty. It would go away with time, as the doctors said, but Brian wasn’t sure it would.

When it came to create new memories, it was a completely different situation. Roger had something to do with it, he was convinced, but what would he think if Brian told him he didn’t exactly remember how the stars on the ceiling had gotten there?

The last thing Brian wanted was to disappoint him. He couldn’t allow himself to do that, not while Roger was so incredibly nice and kind, loving and sweet, with his bright smile and warm voice. Not while he made the effort to visit him almost every day, and try to make Brian see the bright side of things even when immersed in this sudden darkness that had come to stay. Roger was an expert when it came to hide his feelings under a calm expression, but Brian knew him well enough to tell he wasn’t as light-hearted as he wanted everyone to think. He could see through it, and as much as he wanted to help, he couldn’t do a lot. He couldn’t even tell him how much he appreciated his presence and support, without struggling to find the words and make up a non-broken sentence to express what he wanted Roger to know.

Being alone between visiting hours and routine examinations gave the guitarist plenty of time to think.

He often wondered if the rest of his life was going to be like this. If this situation was going to be permanent, if it couldn’t be changed. If he was going to fail to relearn the things he had to relearn. He wanted to regain his independence, get up from that mattress, breathe without a ventilator, and stop being a reason for everyone to feel sorry. It bothered him to know that he was no longer a normal human being, but the type of person someone would look to and think something between the lines of _‘oh, poor guy‘_ and ‘ _I’m glad that’s not me‘._ He didn’t want anyone to suffer because of his current state either, and he couldn’t stand hearing Ruth crying as silently as she could at the other side of the door every time the visiting hours were over.

Brian decided to give himself another chance, and so he opened the green book resting on his lap.

He looked at the white paper, which had a slight brown undertone, probably because it was an old edition. The first page had a little annotation made by Roger, around two visits ago. The words travelled up, in a few diagonal lines. The title of the book, also written there, suddenly seemed not so important. It was overshadowed by Roger’s words, which weren’t nearly as poetic as the rest of the book, but far more meaningful and special for Brian.

_For you_

The first two words of the message weren’t a surprise. Roger always had so much to give.

 _‘What am I giving to him?’_ Brian asked himself, and his mind replied instantly: a reason to lose his sleep, to worry, and to be stressed. He had seen how it was affecting Roger, he had seen behind the smile, and deep down _Roger_ himself knew he couldn’t hide something for Brian no matter how he tried. Too many hours spent arguing about irrelevant things, too many days rehearsing and laughing at dumb jokes, too many nights cuddling. Too many secrets had been shared. They knew each other _too_ well by now, and Brian didn’t dislike that, but at the same time he wished it wasn’t that way. Because hell, he wanted Roger to live a happier life, something better than this.

_to continue_

Twenty four days in hospital, and even though Brian was recovering, he wasn’t sure if he would go back to his old self as Roger promised. He had more doubts than certainties, and being a scientist, he couldn’t help but try and seek the answers even though he had no tools to find them yet. He needed time, as each and every person around him said, but he was never good at waiting.

Twenty sixth, there was something important on the twenty sixth. What was it?

Twenty seven. That specific number rang a bell inside Brian’s mind, and it wasn’t something math-related. He had no problems with mathematics, strangely enough for him. Then he remembered.

_‘Honey’s birthday.’_

He looked away from the book for a moment, as his eyes were going out of focus again. He shook his head a little and the sharp pain he felt in his neck made him remember why he shouldn’t move that much. He had a few broken ribs, and his spine wasn’t in the best condition. The drugs only numbed him enough to not scream in pain, but they didn’t make the horrible sensation go away. It was still there, kind of sleeping, just waiting until he made some movement to show up and tie him down.

It was inside that wardrobe they used to put cleaning products in, hidden under the wooden box that contained all the old rags Brian used to clean their furniture. He was sure Roger would never ever voluntarily open that closet he called ‘ _Bri’s obsession corner’_ , so he had put Roger’s gift there.

Sometimes, when he let his mind wander, Brian wished he was more of a confident, secure and brave man. Not so sensitive when it came to those types of things. Not so shy when it came to love. Roger, who was equally awkward in those matters, had gotten used to their notes and didn’t seem to have a problem with it. However, Brian wanted to go further. He wanted to say those things out loud, looking at Roger in the eyes, holding his hands or letting him tangle his fingers in the dark curls he said he adored. No insecurities inbetween.

Brian had written a long, complicated letter. A love letter, like the ones every shy lad would write to their romantic interest to invite them to go somewhere together for the first time. He had rehearsed the words contained in it, standing in front of the mirror and feeling as silly as can be, for many nights. He had also practiced whispering it while Roger slept, resting his head on Brian’s chest and softly snoring.

One day, Roger said to Brian that the best thing he could ever give him was his love. Ever since, the guitarist had been thinking about how to show Roger that love, in the most sincere and beautiful way. And just when he had taken up the courage to do it, _this_ had to happen. Now, not only he had forgotten that letter’s contents, but lost his whole ability to tell Roger what he felt.

When he could see clearly once again, his eyes travelled down to the book. He was determined to read Roger’s message. As gently as he could, he tilted his head into a position that didn’t hurt as much, and searched for the next word.

_learning._

Brian smiled. Not because he had successfully read five words in a row, but because he could almost feel Roger holding his hand even though he wasn’t there.

He had no idea of what on Earth he had done to deserve all that love, but he couldn’t be more grateful. Seeing other patients made Brian realize how fortunate he was, having friends and family to support him during these hard times. He was one of the few who got that help to make him feel less alone, and most certainly the only one to have three goofy friends to tell him bad jokes every time they visited him.

Freddie had promised to introduce each and every one of his cats to Brian when he got back home. It didn't surprise the band, Freddie always treated his cats like they were his children. He said he would make them wear bowties for the occasion. Deaky had laughed hearing him describe how pretty Delilah would look, and Roger had done the same. Moments like that were evidence that nothing had changed. Brian was loved just the same, even though he technically couldn’t be called a guitarist anymore, and couldn’t remember the songs he had written.

_I hope you enjoy it!_

Brian didn’t even notice he had read the last phrase fluently. He flipped the page while his silly smile stayed on his face, and finally gave that book a try.


	14. Chapter 14

“Today’s lesson has been fantastic. Your doctor will be very happy with these results.”

The teacher took her books, and gently smiled to Brian as she stood up from her seat. Brian had been practising speech for a while now, and it was time to finish the session. She was impressed of his latest achievements, which were the result of hours and hours of dedication and practice. He was a fast learner by nature, as she had noticed, and that advantage combined with his efforts to finish reading the green poetry book made the many tries not so worthless after all. Slowly but surely, his short-term memory was improving, allowing him to partially remember the lessons after they were over.

He had also made progress at forming sentences and pronouncing them, even though he talked slowly and with pauses between words that were a little too long for the average person, and gave away his struggle to perform that simple task. Brian didn’t want to be so different from everyone around him, and those obstacles constantly reminded him of what he had lost. He had been a prestigious academic model, a scientist with facility to understand concepts and solve complicated equations, and a devoted musician who could read sheet music, but not anymore. He was not even half the man he used to be, and that thought was intimidating.

Before the teacher headed to the door, Brian remembered that the 27th was a special day. He wanted to compensate Roger for everything, and he knew that it would be impossible to make up for all the things he had done so far, but he needed to let him know how much it meant for him to know that Roger wouldn’t leave his side. To know that he was still there and loved him just as much as he did before. Since he couldn’t express it with words, he had been thinking about other ways to do it.

“I need a flower.”

“A flower?” The teacher looked at her student and raised an eyebrow. Maintaining her smile and holding her books, she asked a question. A hint of curiosity could be heard in her voice, acute and maternal. “What for?”

Brian took a few seconds to contemplate his answer. He couldn’t tell her that it was for Roger. The guitarist was aware that two men in love wasn’t the most traditional idea of a couple, and he didn’t want to take the risk and test if his teacher was comfortable with her student being in an homosexual relationship. If there was something Brian did remember clearly about the world he had been absent of while locked between those four white walls of his hospital room, it was how the kindest person could become aggressive when being exposed to that kind of love that so many individuals found disgusting. He decided to go for a white lie, an insignificant one, to protect Roger and himself from all that judgement.

“My girlfriend’s birthday.”

With a slight smirk, the guitarist remembered how mad Roger would be every time someone mistook him for a woman. He would probably be upset for Brian calling him _‘his girlfriend’_ at the moment, even though it was a little necessary evil in the current situation.

“Oh, what a gentleman you are…” She chuckled. “What kind of flowers does she like?”

“Roses.” Brian replied. “White roses.”

During their classes, Brian and his teacher had come to know each other better. He knew she was an adept gardener and nature enthusiast, so she seemed to be the right person to ask for this tiny favour. She had mentioned how her husband shared her passion, and how they both took care of their garden like it was another one of their children. It was cute for Brian to hear her get off track and ramble about how different flowers had distinct meanings, roses being an excellent option to symbolize love. Roger found white roses to be the most beautiful type of flower, as the guitarist had recently remembered. He couldn’t give him a bouquet this time, but something was better than nothing. He would appreciate the gesture, Brian was sure.

“So romantic!” She chuckled again. “I’ll get one for you. We’ve got lots of those in our garden. They are the prettiest, and certainly the most romantic flowers you can find.”

“Thank you, teacher.” He said, pleased with her enthusiasm. She was just like Ruth, adorable, cheesy, and the type of person who would enjoy reading Romeo and Juliet’s romance despite the drama in between.

“She’s a fortunate lady. I’m sure that rose will earn you some kisses.” She winked, and Brian laughed.

“Sorry for asking.” He apologised. His request was a rather particular one, but she didn’t find any problems with it. She liked to help, and she thought Brian did deserve some love after all the work he had done.

“Don’t worry. I’m always glad to help my students.”

-

Now that he found himself sitting in the backseat of John’s car, against his will and merely because of Freddie’s insistence, Roger had a minute to recapitulate his day and try to focus on his thoughts to ignore the fact that yes, he was inside a car, and it was terrifying.

It had started well, with Winnie and Michael coming over to his house. Roger had no idea that his sister, the little blonde Claire, had taken a vacation from work to go and see her older brother. When he saw her, it was like being twelve again and seeing her come back from school with her tangled hair and innocent face. They hugged, and Roger did not tell her about what he thought about thunderstorms. He didn’t want his honourable title of the bravest knight to be taken away.

For the first time in almost two years, the whole Taylor family was together again. Just like in the good old days, Roger and Clare fought for the last portion of Winnie’s special pumpkin pie, while their father laughed instead of intervening as she tried to make them share. They had lots of things to talk about, and Clare told them about this man she had met and was so in love with. Roger acted jealous and protective, as well as Michael. Winnie and Clare found them to be childish and exaggerated, and laughed. 

After a couple hours, Freddie and Deaky came along. They had planned Roger’s entire day, with a modest celebration, and no jokes about cupboards. It took place in Freddie’s home, because he had already decorated everything with balloons and twinkle lights the night before, and it ended around seven in the afternoon. Roger hadn’t had a birthday party during the day since he was a child, so for the first time in many years, he wasn’t going to be able to make wishes on stars as it was his tradition. Clare agreed to go with him as Michael and Winnie stayed in their son’s house, and a couple people were invited to the modest party as well. A couple musicians and some childhood friends, between other selected guests, enjoyed the day without a single drop of alcohol. Even though Roger was upset about it, it made complete sense. Nobody wanted him to have any complications with his medication, and mixing it with vodka wasn’t going to do any good.

The entire day could be resumed in Fred starting confetti fights, and Deaky telling jokes that only made Roger and Freddie laugh as all the other guests awkwardly chuckled and looked at each other in visible confusion.

When the drummer got back home, it was time for an early goodbye. Michael and Winnie left, along with Roger’s precious Clare, who promised to visit him again sometime soon. The uncertainty of that ‘ _sometime_ ’ made him doubt, but the sweetness of that ‘ _soon_ ’ evoked a warm feeling.

Roger was tired, but the day couldn’t be over until he had seen Brian. In front of the bathroom’s mirror, the blond man combed his tresses and mumbled a song. It was quite pointless to be facing his own reflection, because he couldn’t see it. His eyes were closed, making it easier to picture his boyfriend’s smile. The brief moment of calmness was interrupted by the loud sound of the doorbell, which made Roger wonder who could be at his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe his parents had forgotten something when they left, but it was unlikely.

Nobody was at the door. Well, not anymore. The postman was delivering packages and letters to nearby houses when Roger took the letter that the man had left moments ago.

The drummer had been trying to avoid this subject, pretending it wasn’t an issue, but reality had come in the form of a judicial notification to let him know that, indeed, the lawsuit Harold had presented was very much real. Now, his faith had an expiration date: the fifth of August.

He stared at the words, unbelievingly.

He read everything carefully. Inside his head, he couldn’t conceive the idea of Brian being discharged to go back to his parents’ house. He had to be back home, with Roger, to claim his place on their bed and obsess over cleaning furniture, not back to the jail he had managed to escape from as soon as he turned eighteen. The drummer knew better than anyone how restrictive Brian’s family could be. He had listened to Brian narrating his lonely nights learning to compose, while hearing Harold say that it wasn’t worth it. That he was ‘ _throwing his education out the window_ ’. That he should stop following his hearth and use logic, as being a musician was for ‘ _lazy and uneducated people’_. Brian detested the monotony he had to face every day, the lectures he was obliged to hear, and the lack of affection from his parents.

And all that had happened with a totally healthy Brian putting up with it. What would they do now that he was more than 70% physically disabled and dependent to do almost everything, as the doctors had said in their report?

If they won the right to take Brian away, not only they would prohibit him from seeing Roger again, they wouldn’t let him get back into music. They would probably oblige him to finish his PhD, and work in some boring college. Queen was going to die, inevitably, as there was no Queen without its four members. They wouldn’t replace Brian if he left. They couldn’t, and didn’t want to just _replace_ their bandmate and friend.

That wasn’t the guitarist’s idea of happiness, and neither was it Roger’s.

He wondered how he was going to tell this to Brian.

“Rog?”

Roger shook his head and looked at Deaky, who was sitting beside him, tilting his head and looking at him with his natural fatherly concern. Now the car’s door was open, and Freddie glanced inside, inviting his friends to follow him to the hospital’s entrance. They had stopped there a few minutes ago, and noticed Roger blankly staring off into space. They assumed it was because it was the first time he had been inside a car for almost a month, and the accident was still too vivid.

“Oh, sorry.” The drummer said. “I’ve been thinking too much.”

“All good?” Freddie asked, and offered a hand for Roger to hold.

“Yeah.”

“Brave boy.” The singer smiled, and the two helped Roger to get out and go to his last destination for the day before going back to the silence of his own house.

The press and its ability to show up in the most inopportune moments was incredibly annoying, but at the same time it was intriguing. How they had gotten information about when Queen was going to visit their guitarist was a total mystery for the band.

“Brian May, guitarist of Queen and ascending rockstar, has been hospitalised for almost a month here, in Saint Thomas. His diagnosis has been reserved for his family and friends, so we haven’t got any certainties about his health...”

The journalist, a man wearing a suit that seemed to be too big for him, stood just meters away from the entrance. A couple people from the hospital’s staff were kindly trying to convince him and his cameraman to leave. One paediatrician who was about to enter the hospital explained them why they couldn’t stay, but they weren’t leaving. As soon as he saw Freddie, John, and Roger, he knew he had the next headline for his newspaper just a few questions away.

“Taylor, how’s Brian May recovering from the accident?”

That question, that was specifically asked to feed the audience’s morbid desire to hear gruesome details about such a horrible event, made Roger more than uncomfortable. They were targeting him more than Freddie or Deaky, as if they knew how deeply affected he was, as if they knew he had his heart on his hand every time someone mentioned the accident, as if they knew how much it hurt. And they seemed to be delighted when seeing Roger’s eyes reflect that pain.

“None of your business.” He replied, sounding calm and confident. He didn’t want to give them the benefit of hearing his sorrow leaking through his voice again.

“What’s his condition?” The journalist insisted, completely ignoring Freddie’s efforts to shut him up.

“None of your business.” Roger said again, and a half smile appeared on his face.

“How do you feel about it?”

It was too similar to those questions Roger’s psychologist had been asking since his first consult. The bewilderment caused by it made the drummer take an extra second to answer. Freddie was starting to feel anxious, and John tried to convince the cameraman to stop recording.

“None of your business.”

“Does he have any resentment towards you?”

And it cut through the drummer’s attempt of calmness like a knife, not because it was an outstandingly good question, but because Roger asked himself that same thing every day. The scariest part of it was that he didn’t have a clear answer, and he feared what it could be.

Roger stayed silent, knowing himself well enough to tell that if he opened his mouth he would inevitably insult the journalist. Roger knew that it wasn’t the man’s fault, he was just some lad doing his job, but he couldn’t help but want to cut his microphone’s wire with some sharp scissors. Fortunately, the hospital’s security could get them out, and they apologised to the band for the inconvenience.

Roger would always be the first one to enter Brian’s room, and have a little chat with him before Freddie and Deaky came in. When the drummer pushed the door just a little to see what was happening inside, he found his boyfriend was reading. The green poetry book on his lap, and his eyes focusing on it.

“What a handsome poet I’ve found myself.”

Brian looked up, a couple curls falling over his face, and smiled the second he saw him.

“Happy birthday, Roger!” The guitarist smiled and pretended he hadn’t been practising that sentence for the past twenty minutes.

“Thank you, baby.” He giggled. This time, the chair he always occupied wasn’t there, so Brian invited him to sit on the mattress. They both liked this, because of was way easier to hold hands.

“I’ve got something. “ The guitarist declared, smiling like he had accomplished an important mission.

“For me?”

“For you.” He affirmed, and glanced at the white table that every room in that floor of the hospital had. It had a tiny drawer, normally used to store some of the patient’s belongings. “There.”

“Should I open it?” Roger inquired, reaching for the drawer’s handle. Brian smiled in response.

The drummer opened it, and saw a white rose resting inside. A beautiful one, with many petals, and its charming scent. He took it with caution, not because of its thorns, but because it was a delicate piece that needed that kind of treatment.

“You like roses.” Brian said, looking at the white petals. Then, he glanced at Roger, and proudly remarked: “I remember.”

Roger’s eyes were watery, and his grin was adorable. He knew Brian would never say no to a hug, so he got closer to give him one. The guitarist wished he could hug his boyfriend back, but all he could do was bring one hand up to Roger’s hair and caress it with trembling fingers.

“Don’t cry.” Brian said, and that only made Roger hug him tighter. “Happy birthday, potato.”

They both giggled in what Freddie would call ‘ _the lovebird fashion_ ’, and Roger kissed Brian’s nose. He didn’t mind the oxygen tube, and the unexpected action made the guitarist blush. The shy astronomy student was still there.

“It is a happy birthday.” Roger affirmed.

After their usual conversation, Brian brought up a question that made Roger remember the news he was obliged to tell him.

“When can I go home?”

 _Home_ , so different from any other house. It wasn’t the biggest, or the prettiest, or the most expensive house, but it was _home_. The result of many hours of restless work at the studio, recording. Painting the walls two times because Brian wanted to cover all imperfections they could have. Hearing the wooden floor creak slightly whenever Roger sneaked to the kitchen for some chocolate. The guest room they had turned into a tiny studio with Roger’s first drum kit, which he had brought from King’s Lynn, and _The Fireplace_ at one side.

No matter how close the fifth of August was, he couldn’t break the thin glass of Brian’s hope. He didn’t want to stop answering questions about how their home looked like, or how many books where in their bookshelf. He didn’t want to contemplate the possibility of never sharing breakfast at their table, or watch the stars together while laying on their garden’s grass, or sleeping in the same bed again.

Roger wanted to keep that hope alive for just one more day. He saw the white rose resting on the table, and he didn’t have the heart to tell his boyfriend that maybe, just maybe, he would never go back _home_.

“Hopefully, soon.”

Brian’s teacher looked at Roger walking out of Brian’s room, holding the white rose. She wasn’t displeased.

 


	15. Chapter 15

He wasn’t supposed to be doing it, but Brian was sitting up on his bed and letting his legs hang off it. His feet could touch the cold floor, and it was a weird but fantastic sensation. Something new and different to what he was used to, normally having to stay in the same position for the entire day. If the nurse walked up on him right then she would probably be mad, but Brian was enjoying the moment. He was tightly holding the mattress so that he wouldn’t fall, as he glanced down and grinned. He would periodically look at the door to make sure no one was coming to see him, and chuckle because he was getting away with the tiny rebellious act he was performing.

It had been a struggle to get into that position. He couldn’t move as much, his muscles were considerably weakened, and the pain on his neck and head wasn’t cooperating, no matter how many different medications the doctors would give him. However, he didn’t really care about it. He knew he was progressing, the first days after waking up felt like they had taken place ages ago, when he couldn’t even move his toes. His stitches had been removed, and his hair was already starting to grow and cover the patches on his head.

Brian had been talking to his doctor a few hours ago, and he had been told that he could start to use a wheelchair. They had talked about it in the past, but now it seemed like a truly realistic option, and not so much something far away from his grasp. Obviously, he wouldn’t be able to move by himself, but he was sure his friends and family would be glad to help him.

The most important aspect of that wheelchair was the freedom it implied. He would be able to get out of his room, and even go to the hospital’s garden to contemplate the birds singing on the trees. He couldn’t wait, and he never thought he would be excited about simply going outside. Eventually, he would be able to stand up. And then, to walk. Those things were unapproachable at the moment, but he was willing to do his best efforts to get there.

“You naughty, what are you doing?”

Brian quickly turned his head to look at the door, in his eyes the same look as that of a child being caught in the middle of his plans to steal a cookie from the kitchen. However, he recognised both the voice and the owner of that voice just a second after, and sighed in relief. Roger was looking at him while smiling, leaning on the doorframe. Brian had forgotten about his daily visit. He was lucky it wasn't Alexandra. 

“Nothing.” The guitarist responded and looked away, simulating he wasn’t doing anything that had been prohibited by the nurse. Roger chuckled, and then got closer to help him. The drummer almost didn’t need to use his crutches, he was used to stand on his healthy leg and managed to move around that way without forcing the other one.

“You should be laying down. You could hurt yourself.” He said, and helped Brian to get back to the position the doctors said was the safest.

Roger made sure Brian didn’t get tangled in the tubes. He had a couple, and it was still a scary sight, but they were less than during the first days. The one that impressed Roger the most was assigned to introduce medicines and other substances into Brian’s body, through a vein in his left hand. He could see the needle, and even though the area around it was covered with white bandages, it still made Roger feel that certain uneasiness. He never liked needles, anyway.

“Jesus…” Brian hissed, after he got to lay down again. He had accidentally moved his head to the right, and felt a tendon being pulled from one side of his jaw all the way to his left clavicle. The professionals had explained that it was because of the multiple traumas he had suffered, and the violent movements that had overly stretched his muscles.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Roger almost insulted himself out loud for not being gentle enough, even though it wasn’t his fault.

“Don’t be.”

After a couple minutes, the pain started to fade away again, partly because of the medications, and because Brian was now focusing on the sensation of Roger’s fingers intertwined with his own. It was almost magical, how the drummer could make him feel so safe with just that and his usual smile. And even though he wasn’t aware of it, Brian had that same calming effect for Roger. They enjoyed each other’s company.

“Did the doctor tell you something interesting?” The blond asked, and his boyfriend grinned.

“I’m ready for a wheelchair.”

“That’s fantastic!” Roger was proud of him both because of his great physical recovery, and his expanding phrases. “Have you got any places to visit in mind?”

Brian took an instant to think. Every day, he woke up hearing the singing of a couple birds that lived in the hospital’s garden. He had been told that there was a fountain surrounded by benches, many trees and flowers, and a children’s playground, all reserved for the patients. He wanted to see something that wasn’t the usual white environment, perfectly clean and organised.

“To see the birds.” He answered, and Roger wasn’t surprised.

“Good choice.” The drummer thought about the hours upon hours that the band spent at Hyde Park, maybe searching for a little inspiration or just having a good time together, and how his mates were blown away every time Roger identified birds without looking at them. “You’ve always been an animal lover.”

“Do we own a dog?” Brian asked.

“No.” He replied, and Brian felt a little disappointed. Every animal lover needed pets.

“Cat?” Freddie had lots of those, maybe they had one too.

“No.” Roger responded again, maintaining his smile.

“Badger?” He sounded like an excited kid, and Roger laughed.

“A badger?”

“They are cute.”

“No, we don’t own a badger.” The drummer laughed again. There was a brief moment of silence until Brian tested his luck.

“Can we get one?”

“I don’t think so, Bri.” Roger took the poetry book that rested on the table, and opened it where the bookmark was placed. “Have you found any poems about badgers here?”

The drummer looked down and a couple blond tresses fell over his face, so he moved them away. Brian got a moment to see those intense blue eyes showing up from underneath the golden hairs, and he couldn’t believe being so gorgeous was even possible. Roger found one poem he found interesting, and started to read it out loud. His lover contemplated his lips moving, and heard his raspy voice filling the air. He had a moment of not caring if he died right there and then, because he would be happy. He didn’t have a single doubt that he was with the love of his life.

As soon as Roger finished reading, he glanced up to see if Brian liked it. Judging by his expression, he did.

“Thanks for coming.” The guitarist said, but his words would never be enough. “It helps a lot, you’ve got no idea."

"You don’t need to thank me. I promised I would be here.”

He was afraid he would have to break his own promise soon.

Roger caressed Brian’s hair, and then his face. The guitarist liked this gentle touch, and closed his eyes. He did recognise those caresses, because Roger used to do that every night when they went to sleep. When they shared a bed, when the accident was the most unimaginable scenario. The drummer was thinking about how much time had passed since the last time they kissed. He was surprised to notice that a month had passed already, and he didn’t know how he had let that much time pass without at least doing it once. Roger admired his boyfriend’s features. A perfect jawline, long nose, and hazel eyes hidden underneath his eyelids. He touched Brian’s lips with his thumb, and he opened his eyes. Roger would always laugh at him for asking for permission before kissing him, but now he was the one silently asking. The guitarist reached for his lover’s face, showing that he wanted what was about to happen.

Roger kissed him as delicately as he could, almost as if Brian’s lips were the petals of the white rose.

Freddie opened the door and peeked in. The moment he saw them, he chuckled like a schoolgirl and Deaky tried to shut him up in order not to ruin their friends’ special moment. Roger did hear them, but decided to pretend he didn’t and continued kissing Brian.

“Look, he’s taking advantage of this poor boy!” Freddie pressed his own cheeks with his hands in an overly dramatic gesture.

“I don’t think he minds it.” John said, grinning.

Roger separated their lips with care. Without letting go of his lover's cheek, he turned his head and looked at the door, then giggled.

“Oh, he doesn’t.” He affirmed with a playful tone, and Brian’s face flushed.

-

“How are you feeling?”

Deaky, Freddie and Roger had helped the doctor and the nurse to get Brian to sit on the wheelchair. It had been even more difficult for him than sitting up on his own and let his legs hang out of the mattress a few hours ago. His breathing was quite odd, because of the unusual movement and change of position. The needle that went onto his left hand was still there too, and the line led to a bag that hung on a pole. It had to be carried next to Brian, almost like an extension of his wheelchair.

On the other hand, the tube for his nose wasn’t going anywhere. It was now connected to an oxygen tube instead of being connected to the concentrator, so that was another thing that had to be carried around with him. Brian felt awkward, depending on all these things to just move a few meters from his room, but it didn’t matter as long as they served their purpose and he could get to the hospital’s garden.

He moved his head a little, his eyes focused correctly, and he could articulate his response properly. “Fine.”

“Alright Mr May, everything looks good, I think you’re ready.” Doctor Foxworth watched John, Freddie and Roger smile victoriously. In a way, they were starting to get their friend back, and it was exciting. “If you feel any discomfort, or have problems breathing, please let us know as quickly as possible.”

“And if he gets disconnected from any of these, tell us.” Alexandra told the three visitors, almost like a mother reproaching something to her children, and they nodded aggressively like they were the best-behaved kids in the entire town. That title would correspond to Brian, anyway.

Deaky pushed the wheelchair, Freddie carried the oxygen and Roger the saline stand with the bag for the intravenous medication.

Brian had spent the last month inside that hospital, yet he had no idea how the hallway looked like. It wasn’t anything strange or overly striking, just more white walls, but it was relieving to be at another place. He saw the numbers of the doors, other patients entering their rooms, families waiting outside the doors, and various people walking around, mostly nurses.

The door that led to the outside had two small windows. Brian could deduce that it was a sunny day. The band looked at each other for a minute, before the singer put one hand on the door.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Freddie.”

It was beautiful. Tall trees waving with the subtle wind, colourful benches here and there, a giant fountain in the middle with crystalline water. Brian could feel the sunlight on his skin, warm, almost like a welcoming gesture from the world, like it had missed him on his absence. Birds flying and singing, and a clear blue sky. Immense, and wonderful. His friends loved to see Brian’s expression, a mixture of confusion, astonishment and fascination.

There was one pink bench, and next to it there was a bush with a couple yellow flowers, surrounding what looked like a streetlight. Everything seemed so alive, the complete opposite of the hospital’s inside. The water made sounds almost like a grand cascade, and the band got closer to see it better. Freddie couldn’t help but dip one hand in it and splash some water on Roger’s face.

“Hey!”

“Don’t do that!” Deaky exclaimed. “They are gonna kick us out!”

“Children, stop.” Brian chuckled.

“It’s John’s fault, such a granny.” Freddie complained, with his hands on his hips. “And not even a fun one.”

“My fault?” He said as he splashed his friend back.

“Oh God he’s revealing against us!” Said Freddie, impressed and with a look of horror, which was changed almost immediately for a joyful one. “He’s learning from me!”

Goofing around was always good fun. Other patients looked at the band and laughed at their innocent stupidity and the bad jokes they made. Roger sat down at the edge of the fountain and almost fell inside, causing his friends to laugh as he called them ‘traitors who want me to drown’. Every time Alexandra came to check on them they acted as if nothing was happening and they were just serious English gentlemen talking about important matters, and as soon as she left they went back to normal.

Deaky handed Brian a coin. A sixpence, like the ones the guitarist always used instead of a more traditional plectrum. He regarded it for a minute. The feeling of its surface on his fingers was extremely familiar.

“Make a wish.” John said, and Brian looked at the fountain.

He closed his eyes for a moment, made his wish, and threw the coin inside it with a gentle movement. Freddie was curious and asked immediately.

“What was it?”

“He shouldn’t say it if he wants it to come true.” John remembered Freddie, but he was too curious to let that stop him.

“Aw come on, It’ll come true anyway.” The singer affirmed.

“What did you wish?” Roger wondered, and Brian smiled.

“For Queen to last forever.”

“Wish granted.” Freddie said, moving his fingers like he was casting a spell. “It was going to happen anyway!”

“I just wanted to make sure.” Brian excused himself, successfully pronouncing every word in his sentence.

Once their time for visiting was over, the band took their guitarist back to his room and assisted him to get back in bed. Alexandra congratulated them for taking care of Brian, and it was time to say goodbye for the day.

Deaky and Freddie were trying to help Roger get over his fears, so they decided to return in John’s car. This time Deaky was behind the steering wheel, and both Freddie and Roger were sitting at the backseat.

“Did you tell him anything about the thing...” The singer began formulating a question while he thought about how to refer to Harold without mentioning his name. “You know, with the conservative lord?”

“Not yet” He replied. “I know I should...”

“I promise you’ll win this, Rog. Don’t worry.” John sounded confident, and that lifted the drummer’s hopes a little more.


	16. Chapter 16

The waiting room was quiet, but not completely silent. Music was being played in the distance, most likely a new rock band doing an attempt of a gig in a nearby area. Roger liked it, it was a good company as he found himself sitting there, alone. Freddie and Deaky couldn’t come to see their friend in the morning, so they were most likely going to do it during the afternoon. It didn’t really matter, the time of the day wasn’t important as long as they _did_ come to see Brian. He said he enjoyed their visits a lot, as they made his day less boring. Roger had forgotten to bring a book for the occasion, so he was just looking at the ceiling and patiently waiting until the nurse came and told him he could head to room 1-514.

It didn’t look like it was going to be a good day for the Intensive Care Department. Roger had heard the tumult of a patient’s family starting their long and torturing grieving process after losing a young woman. A mother, daughter, aunt, sister, a person. Before the accident, the drummer didn’t really care about strangers’ feelings, but he had become really sensitive when it came to death. He felt concerned, uneasy, and extremely sorry for the woman’s family. Especially for her children, two young daughters. Roger was grateful he hadn’t had to go through anything remotely similar with Brian. He couldn’t have handled it. This sudden sensibility was annoying, but it certainly made Roger feel closer to his softer side, the one he wanted to hide so desperately.

He had suffered a change in his personality, with all this new situations. He didn’t know if it was going to be permanent, or go away with time, but he had become a _gentler_ person. Well, he wasn’t sure of what the most fitting adjective to describe it would be. He was incredibly fond of everybody’s feelings, swore much less, behaved more like a mature and respectful man, less aggressive and more rational, and contrary to what the majority would believe, he was distancing himself from alcohol. He did smoke an awful lot, but drinking was different. It made him feel worse, like an ugly mess, so he didn’t do it anymore. Brian would be proud. He would still complain about Roger’s smoking habits, anyway.

Footsteps could be heard from the hallway, which was also incredibly quiet. The old lady that always gave everyone candy and smiled slightly when she saw Roger there emerged from the hallway walking slowly. She was wearing one of her favourite dresses, with floral patterns. She didn’t appear to be particularly joyful that day, a sad expression reflected in her brown eyes. He could tell she was having trouble to move. The drummer wondered what he could do to make her feel better, and got up to help her get to wherever she was going.

“Good morning, dear lady.” He greeted her, and decorated his phrase with a grin, while he made a little reverence that caused her to chuckle. Then, he proceeded to extend his hand in a chivalrous gesture. “You look wonderful today.”

“Hello again, young laddie.” She appeared to blush, just like a teenage girl when being complimented. She accepted Roger’s offering and let him help her, taking his hand. She felt much more secure now. She should probably get a walking stick sooner or later, but she thought she was still too young to get one. “Thank you. You are a gentleman.”

He accompanied her all the way from there to the exit of the Intensive Care Department. Roger insisted that he could assist her to get to the front desk, but she declined. She didn’t want him to be late for his visit, the nurse could be calling him at any moment. Before saying goodbye, Roger thought it would be rather polite to inquire about the lady’s husband. However, he got an entirely different response from the usual one. She would always say that he was _‘good, thanks for asking, and I hope your friend is doing well too’._ This time, she looked up, and smiled. Her eyes were filling with tears, but she didn’t let them run down her pink cheeks.

“He just arrived to the Heavens.”

Roger didn’t expect such an answer.

She had told him that her husband was getting better, and she was really excited to have him back home soon. He wasn’t awake yet, but he had some kind of very subtle motor response, and that simple thing had made her feel like he would be back on his feet in a few more months. She remembered Roger of himself, and his reaction after Brian’s first responses. He understood her happiness better than anyone. He had been there too, he knew the pain, and he knew the hopelessness that liked to sit beside him every time he went to see Brian and didn’t find any progress.

She would always ask about the guitarist, like she had known him since he was born. That maternal quality was calming and sweet. She said she admired guitarists, that she found them to be incredibly skilled and creative, and she had even bothered to listen to some Queen. Roger thought she was the coolest rock and roll granny ever. She said _A Night at the Opera_ was amazing, and hoped to listen to some more _‘of that youngster jazz’_ in the future.

Roger couldn’t imagine to be in her place at the moment, and he admired her even more than before. She was still smiling.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was a generic reply, but he had no idea of what else he could say. She was comforted by his words. 

“It’s not a loss, son, he’s at God’s side now.” She sounded confident and secure. “The Lord needed a smart and kind man to help him out, so he called my Charlie. He made a good choice.”

Roger was never religious. He actually found many religious beliefs to be simply improbable, and he would most likely keep that way of thinking for the rest of his life. However, he couldn’t deny that this woman’s words were some of the sweetest, most tender ones he had ever heard. If Heaven truly existed, she had an honorary place there. Also, it was quite poetic to think that maybe there was an eternal life for her to spend alongside her true love. Roger decided to reply with whatever his heart dictated him.

“I’m sure he will do an excellent work teaching math to the angels.”

She nodded, clearly moved by the drummer’s words, which were sincere and nice. She thanked him for everything, for the long chats in the waiting room and his company, and wished him a happy life. Then, she gave Roger the best advice she could give concerning the situation of his _‘dear friend’_. It was a remarkable goodbye, one Roger wouldn’t forget.

“Love your friend, laddie. You never know when he’s going to leave. Remind him of how much he means to you whenever you can. Love him, love him a lot.”

-

“Look what I’ve made.”

Like a child showing the results of art class to his parent, Brian showed his latest project to his lover. A big white paper filled with straight lines. He had been practising his fine motor skills, and was getting pretty good at it. Sure, you could still tell his shaky movements by looking at the lines, but it was a major step. Due to his progress reading, the teacher thought it would be a good idea to start introducing Brian to writing. For him it was unfairly difficult to just draw one line, but his will was strong enough to try it a million times. The teacher was impressed, and she wasn’t aware of the fact that Brian’s biggest motivation was Roger. He wanted to make him proud, and show him this little artsy project with no shame, so he had made his greatest effort to get those lines perfect. Or at least, as perfect as he could.

His boyfriend was impressed. It wasn’t like the astonishment most adults would fake when faced with their son’s abstract drawing. He was truly impressed, considering how far Brian had come. From not even blinking, deep into his initial unconsciousness, to getting back his ability to use a pencil. It was a long journey, and it wasn’t going to end any time soon. Brian waited for a reaction, looking at Roger as he regarded the lines and touched the paper’s surface. He was so proud, so incredibly _proud_ of his boyfriend.

“You do this way better than me.” Roger said, smiling and glancing up to meet Brian’s eyes. “I couldn’t draw a line this straight even if my life depended on it.”

Roger couldn’t wait to see him patiently drawing lines while sitting at the sofa, and telling the drummer that the coffee table wasn’t designed for him to rest his feet on it. The possibility was tangible, it was real, but considering the legal issues between him and the May family, it was _unlikely_. He hated to describe their future together as unlikely, as if it was something hypothetical or not desired. He wanted to be absolutely sure that he would go back home. Roger wanted to fall asleep listening to his lover’s heartbeat once again.

“You can keep it.” He smiled back, flattered by Roger’s comment. The drummer would probably end up framing this artwork and hanging it on their sitting room’s wall, next to the bookshelf, for everyone to see how strong his lover was. As clear evidence that Brian was indeed the hero Roger always thought of him.

“But I haven’t got any money to pay for your art!” He complained, with disappointment. For him, that simple exercise of coordination executed on paper had more value than all the artworks inside the Louvre put together. “This must cost a million pounds, and I’m broke.”

Brian pretended to think about another way Roger could pay him, but he had already planned it. After a few seconds, with his hand on his chin as in deep thought, he revealed the price of his piece.

“Just kisses would do.”

Roger liked that deal, and decided to start paying right then. He wasn’t used to kiss Brian with that annoying tube in between, and involuntarily moved it out of place when he reached for his lover’s hair. His fingers got tangled up with the oxygen tube and Brian’s curls. The guitarist laughed seeing Roger’s expression the moment he realized he was trapped, and while he tried to free himself without pulling them.

“Oh, shut up Medusa.” Roger teased, trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny!”

“Sorry.” He apologised, not really meaning it. He was enjoying the moment.

“My fault, I’m too clumsy.” Carefully, he untangled the dark curls. “I need more practise.”

The inevitable _had_ to happen. Roger’s time was almost up, and looking at the clock only confirmed that he couldn’t postpone it anymore. He had to take courage from where he didn’t have it, and find a good order of words to tell his lover about the separation of their paths. It wasn’t going to be a complete erasing of their life together, but the old way of waking up in the same bed and spending the day with loving sighs and tender laughs had ended a long time ago.

Roger took his hands. He looked at his slender fingers, and the metacarpals that hid under the fair skin but were noticeable. They had always been like that, just as skinny as the rest of his body. Many people who wanted to work as hand models envied him. The drummer caressed the skin. They were the same hands he had used to play the Red Special for endless hours, to practise every single chord and compose creative riffs. It still hurt to see that damned needle buried in his skin, like a reminder that they weren’t quite the _same_ hands. The ones that caressed Roger’s skin for so many nights were absent in a way, taken away by the current shakiness of Brian’s every movement.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

 _‘How the hell am I supposed to say this when he looks at me like that?’_ Roger thought, as soon as he saw his favourite pair of curious eyes looking at him in expectation. For a moment, he wondered why it had to be like this. He wished people like them could just be happy, without everyone judging their relationship because they were of the same gender. Maybe, in an ideal world, Harold could be a nice father in law and see how much Roger loved Brian. They could conform a big family, full of affection and comprehension. But the world wasn’t an ideal one, homophobia still existed, and the general public would want Roger to be publicly punished for dragging Brian, an excellent student and a good man, into his dirty and sinful habits.

Trying to think less and speak more, Roger intended to make things look less tragic. In the end, Brian’s parents weren’t bad people. They just had a view of what was the best for their child that differed with the one Roger and his friends had. Their intentions weren’t harmful. They wanted their son to be alright, even though that implied Roger couldn’t be in his life anymore.  

And the drummer also wanted Brian to be alright, even if it took Brian to forget their love and move on.

“Your parents may be taking care of you once you get discharged.”

Brian wasn’t exactly pleased after hearing that.

“And you?”

“We’ll meet again. We may not be able to cuddle at night, but during the day, I’m sure we’ll spend time together.”

Brian frowned a little, and to his mind came a certain memory he hadn’t recalled before.

He could remember Roger’s face under the dim light, when the drummer was just twenty years old. He had that same glimmer in his eyes he still preserved to this day, and a mischievous smile that he could use to convince Brian in less than a second to do whatever he wanted. They had started to date just a few months ago, and were sitting in the middle of nowhere after Roger’s van decided to stop working. The sunset was already ending, and the moon was now high up in the sky.

He remembered laying on the van’s roof alongside his boyfriend, and watching the stars. He felt free. No longer trapped in his bedroom, studying to please his parents, denying his passion for music. No longer hiding who he was, no longer thinking his feelings for his lover were wrong. Yes, they were young, broke, and with an uncertain future, but he wouldn’t exchange kissing Roger under the moonlight for anything in the world.

“I want to go home.”

Seven years. It was easy to count them, but _getting through them_ was an entirely different thing. Their duality had become a basic part of their lives, and they had taken for granted that they would continue to be together for the rest of their lives. It sounded cheesy and even stupid to some, but they had already silently agreed to grow old in each other’s company. Roger didn’t want to spend his days without Brian telling him useless facts about Mars, and Brian didn’t want to spend his days without hearing Roger coming up with new rhythms while banging metal spoons on the kitchen table’s surface.

“It’s not _home_ if you aren’t there.”

Roger caressed Brian’s face again, hoping it wasn’t going to be the last time.

“How sweet you are. Let’s see if I can kiss you without getting all tangled up.”

He tried, and he didn’t get trapped in Brian’s curls. The guitarist took the opportunity to pull Roger closer, almost like he was asking him to stay. The blond giggled between the little kisses.

“I love you.”

The drummer stared at him for a second, just repeating those words inside his head. He hadn’t heard it from Brian’s lips in such a long time, he was overwhelmed. His smile only confirmed that he was happy to hear him say it again.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”


	17. Chapter 17

Freddie was giving his third speech of the day, complaining about how stupid the world was and how much he would like to visit Harold with a baseball bat. Deaky was advocating for peace and saying violence is never the answer, and Roger was just a nervous mess. Three hours until he had to go and confront his boyfriend’s father. He felt three hours weren’t enough to mentally prepare himself, and no matter how much cheese on toast Deaky offered him, he couldn’t focus on anything else and calm down.

They were in Roger’s bedroom, watching him tie his tie and failing to do so over and over again. He insisted he could do it by himself, but he had forgotten how to do it thanks to his restlessness.

He had had another unpleasant encounter with the press again. Now they were almost camping outside his door, waiting for anything mildly curious to happen and capture it in video, take photographs, and write long articles about it. It was quite disappointing to think they weren’t there because Queen’s music was now so relevant it had caused journalists to lose their minds, but because they needed money and saw an opportunity to get it by taking advantage of the terribly unfortunate situation that now was the centre of the band members’ lives.

Roger had gotten incredibly good at politely declining people’s questions with a smile that was almost insulting.

“… and that’s why we can’t have nice things.” Freddie concluded, and neither of his friends had been listening, so Deaky clapped. With an indignant tone, the singer exclaimed: “Oh thank you, motherfucker.”

Roger finally tied his tie, and looked at his friends.

Silence. The drummer felt like his nervous headache wasn’t going to go away, and it didn’t make things easier. At the moment, he was missing his drum kit. Playing always relaxed him, and he would certainly like a minute of forgetting about everything and just immersing into music. John felt the need to get up and hug him, but he wasn’t sure Roger would like that. Just before Freddie could say something, the doorbell rang.

“If it’s some journalist-“He started, only to be interrupted by Deaky.

“I’ll go and check.”

John left the room for a moment, walked up to the sitting room, and opened one of the curtains to see who was at the other side of the front door. He immediately closed it again, and evaluated what to do. He recognised the woman who was waiting outside, and he didn’t know it this was a good or bad surprise for his anxious friend. He went back to the bedroom, and Freddie noticed his expression in less than a second.

“Who is it?” The singer asked.

“Brian’s mother.”

“I’m done.” Roger exclaimed, and let his body fall on the bed. He rubbed his eyes and wished to wake up. He wanted to open his eyes and find this was just a nightmare that had been too real, but he couldn’t think much about how much he wanted to end this situation before Freddie’s voice interrupted.

“We’ll go with you.”

Ruth was wearing her pointy red shoes, and a pretty blue dress. What made her stand out the most was her smile, framed with her pink lips. Roger was about to greet her, when she shushed him and gave him a paper. He was confused for a second. Behind him, Freddie and John waited in silence.

_Voluntary dismissal_

“I know I should’ve done this earlier, my husband is so stubborn. I could barely convince him. ” She said, and Roger looked at her with his eyes widely open, in surprise and disbelief.

He wanted to say something, but stuttered and didn’t say anything. Ruth continued grinning, and was amused by Roger’s expression. His blue eyes were even more striking now.

“It’s the least I could do.” With her motherly voice, Ruth sounded almost like an angel. “You make Brain very happy.”

“I’m… I’m in debt for the rest of my life.” He tried to sound calm, even though he felt euphoric. “Thank you for understanding. It means so much to me, to us.”

“Just take good care of my son, that’s all I ask.”

-

Brian was reading something Freddie had given him. It was an interesting manuscript with lyrics for various songs, some written by Brian himself in now past and forgotten moments. The majority of them weren’t recorded yet, as the production of _A Day at the Races_ had been forced to stop after the accident, and no one was certain of when they were going to be resumed. Freddie’s handwriting wasn’t too easy to read, a bit messy and all over the place. Aside from the paragraphs he had drawn flowers, he had exaggerated the capital letters so that they looked like they came straight out of some ancient book, and he had sketched the band’s logo to decorate the page. When Deaky looked at it and asked about those little snippets, Freddie alleged that his drawings were absolutely necessary and John knew nothing about art. Brian found their discussion to be amusing.

The guitarist touched his throat, it felt sore. A glass of water rested on the table, but he didn’t dare to try and drink it.

The tube had been removed for a second time, and Brian would do anything in order not to depend on it ever again, but it was scary as hell. The doctors said there was no reason to keep using it, that he could do it on his own. He _had_ to get used to drink and eat normally it as soon as he could if he wanted to get his life back. And he craved to get out of that room and do something other than cause problems for everyone, but again, he wasn’t sure he was actually capable of doing it. He had never thought he would be intimidated by a glass of water before, but now he looked at it like it was some kind of mythical monster sitting in the shadows.

Hesitantly, he left the paper on his lap and reached for it. It was cold, as expected, and quite heavy for his weakened arms. That was another matter of concern, he had lost weight because of the little movement his body allowed him to do, and he would have to do hours upon hours of rehabilitation to get it back. He had always been naturally very slender and tall, so it wasn’t going to be an easy task. Brian never thought this characteristic of his was going to be an obstacle. Roger would always say how lucky he was for having such a metabolism, as Roger himself had always been _‘on the chubbier side_ ’, as Freddie described him.

He breathed deeply, and cleared his mind. The crystal touched his lips, and he got the courage to try. Surprisingly enough, it went smoothly this time. He didn’t feel that horrible sensation he had experienced before, and he didn’t choke. He just drank like a normal person, and he was happy to feel like a regular human being just doing regular human being things. He forgot about the concentrator for a moment, and focused on the cold water. He let his memory try to recall how ice cream was like. He would have to try it once he was free to go out again.

Leaving the half empty glass on the table, he returned to Freddie’s manuscript. The singer had titled it _‘Fabulous Things We’ve Written Because We’re Fabulous’_ , and next to the title he had drawn a portrait of the band as stick figures. Brian could recognise himself by the extremely dramatic pile of dark curls Freddie had included on the figure’s head. He was next to the blond one with a smiley face, and next to it there was another figure with a toast in its hand and a pink heart. Deaky, without a doubt. And then, there was Freddie’s representation of himself, tangled with a microphone’s wire.

He grinned a little, turning the page to see the other side. The first title was accompanied by a drawing of a delicate lily, painted in orange, with a long stem and a few leaves. It was more than evident that Freddie had studied art, and the flower made an outstanding contrast with the sticks in the other side of the page.

_Drowse, by Goldilocks. (Look how pretty this flower turned out!)_

He smiled at the nickname, almost chuckling. That made his thoughts swing back to Roger. He wanted to be with him, he wanted to be there _for_ him, even though he couldn’t contribute much to the conversation. He knew how nervous his boyfriend would be every time Harold was present, and he knew that the best way to calm him down was taking his hand under the table when no one could see and letting him know without words that he would never be alone. 

He just didn’t understand why all this had to happen, Harold detested him, after all.

Brian didn’t like to cry and tried his best not to do it, probably because of the pressure that had been put on him to be _‘a perfect son’_ , and perfect sons don’t cry. However, he did remember not being able to control the tears after confessing to his parents that he loved a man.

_‘You are not my son, you’re just a dishonour.’_

Why would Harold want him back with them? Did he regret all the hurtful things he had said? Did he suddenly realised that he didn’t want to live in a world where he didn’t have a relationship with his only son? Why would he change his mind? It was nonsense, he never changed his mind about anything. His word was always final and undebatable, and Brian had learned that at a young age. There was nothing he could do, and no matter how much he wanted to, he would never be the perfect son Harold wanted. He would never be enough.

He _did_ remember Roger’s calming whispers that same night.

_‘Brian, breathe for me, sweetie. We’re going to be alright. They’ll understand, someday. Now, breathe. No, please, don’t cry. Honey, listen to me. I love you, you know that?’_

Well, damn, now he was getting emotional again. He couldn’t help it, remembering that moment was always incredibly heart-warming. Roger’s hands softly caressing his face, his soothing voice, his patience, and the way he tried to make Brian feel safe. He spent that night trying to make him laugh and telling every bad joke in Deaky’s book, and it worked.

Brian was a little ashamed after that episode, but Roger let him know there was nothing to be ashamed of, and assured he didn’t think any less of his boyfriend for seeing him lose it after hearing such painful things from his own family. And he had promised to be there every time Brian needed him, to comfort him and tickle him until he didn’t felt sad anymore.

The guitarist faced forward, hearing quick steps that were followed by the sudden opening of the door.

“Bri!”

Standing with the biggest smile on his face, Roger waved the document in the air as a signal of victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello.
> 
> I don't like to put notes at the end of chapters, I feel like they interrupt your experience. However, I do think this one is necessary.
> 
> I apologise for the short chapter. Oh goodness, this one has been the shortest one yet. It does have a justification, I needed to make this transition in order to continue moving the plot forward. I don’t think the end of this story is near yet, but we are going to enter the second half. I hope you can excuse me this time. I don’t think it’ll happen again. 
> 
> I can't believe this surpassed 7500 hits, you are truly amazing. Thanks for everything.


	18. Chapter 18

If there was something about Brian that completely amazed Roger was how resilient he was, and how he would maintain an optimistic smile even when going through the toughest times.

The first week of September was over already, and August seemed to have lasted less than a sigh. The guitarist was just a few pages away from finishing the green poetry book, and could even recite a few verses from his favourite poems. It was incredible to see how much he had advanced, and to hear him talk. Broken sentences had become only an occasional thing, and he was slowly recovering his beloved complicated words and scientific terminology. He wasn’t a fluent speaker, but he could manage simple conversations quite normally, with their respective silent pauses and often talking about the same thing for half an hour because Brian would forget what they were discussing in the middle of their chat. He wouldn’t be playing guitar any time soon, but with his latest advancements, he would be singing in no time. Freddie enjoyed to make acapella interventions out of his visits, and Brian could contribute more and more than before as days passed by.

The soon to be discharged patient loved to go outside, and his friends were glad to help him touch the grass with his feet or bother Roger with the fountain’s water. It had become a tradition to try and see where the birds were hiding, between the green leaves of the tall trees. It was a good exercise for Brian’s eyes, which were relearning to focus objects at different distances. The first band member to spot one of those cute feathered individuals would win. There was nothing to win, but they enjoyed to laugh at Deaky for never spotting anything. The bassist didn’t mind, and even admitted his sight was rather poor. They would also ask Roger the stupidest questions about birds they could come up with, and he would answer with equally ridiculous answers to make Brian laugh until the nurse came to scold them, saying they shouldn’t disturb his breathing pattern so much.

He had also relearned to write short words, composed by only a couple syllables. He took five minutes to do it and his calligraphy was gone and now resembled that of a child, but he _could_ , and that alone made Roger admire him even more. He already thought Brian was the strongest person out there before the accident, but now he was absolutely convinced. Roger’s hopes for receiving little secret notes again were revived with every new letter of the alphabet Brian could trace with his shaky right hand. But the best part about it was seeing his proud smile after writing a sentence, seeing him slowly going back to be _himself_.

Queen didn’t lose any opportunities to take photographs. They had a good collection of pictures of Brian reading, taken by Roger. He would always say how beautiful he looked when he was focusing and slightly frowning as he held a book. They also had a few taken outside, and one that depicted Ruth hugging her child, the two making silly faces for the camera. The nurses were also part of this new section of their photo album, and Brian’s doctor was also there. The most memorable of those pictures was probably the one they had taken just moments after Brian received the approximate date of his discharge. Crazy curls falling around him as he smiled widely, holding a paper with an inscription: _September 11th._

Roger, on his side, had gotten rid of that annoying cast and was walking normally again, but he was anxious and couldn’t control it. He had his own selection of medications he had to remember to take every day, and he would sometimes forget about them and find himself being specially stressed out and nervous. It wasn’t much different when he did take them, because he would suffer attacks. He didn’t tell anything about it to Brian, and he didn’t think there was a need for him to know. At least, not just yet. He needed someone to take care of him, not a reason to worry, so Roger kept quiet and continued smiling through it. Freddie and Deaky were afraid he would eventually lose his ability to control the situation and end up hurting himself, and it was almost a tangible possibility. Bottling up feelings never proved to be a healthy thing to do.

The scariest episode he had went through came right after he read the full report of Brian’s condition. It was way _darker_ than expected. He didn’t regret reading it, but he wished he had waited a bit more before getting into the details. There were things he was better off without knowing.

Roger knew that Brian had an haemorrhagic stroke, but he didn’t know that he had also suffered a heart attack because of it. He had also two broken ribs, and a damaged spine. He hadn’t broken any vertebrae, miraculously, and his lungs and other internal organs hadn’t suffered major injuries, but Roger encountered graphical descriptions of every wound and could picture them perfectly. How could he cause Brian, this beautiful person, so much pain? It wasn’t right. If Roger could give his life to make Brian’s suffering go away, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Now Roger understood why Brian needed morphine so bad. Between all drugs, it was the most effective one to ease the pain. But it was extremely addictive, and Roger feared Brian would fall for it. They hadn’t avoided drugs in the rock and roll scenery for nothing, they had been extremely careful with that matter. During their first tour, when some lad offered Roger to try methamphetamine, the band had a serious conversation about drugs as a whole and decided that they weren’t worth it. The risk was too high for just a few minutes of fun, and even tough Freddie had violated their agreement a couple times, they remained mostly loyal to their policy of no narcotics.

The most disturbing thing about the reports Roger read, was how present death was. Terms like _fatal risk, critical injuries, medium to low chance of survival._ It was there. Resting on the white blanket. It had been present, and so dangerously close to reach Brian it was overwhelming to think about it.

No. He was _Brian May,_ and he had suffered a stroke and a heart attack, but he made it alive and proved everyone wrong. He woke up from a coma, and he was ready to overcome every obstacle life tried to put in his way. He was suffering types of pain he had never experienced before in the highest levels imaginable, but he was strong enough to face it and try to make Roger smile while he was at it. He was sure Queen would survive just like he did, and tried to show that he didn’t need anyone’s pity. He was recovering _just fine._

However, he was human. And sometimes it became too much to handle.

Before all this mess, the first person he would go to with his concerns was Roger. Now, he felt it wasn’t the wisest choice. Freddie had accidentally made a remark about antidepressants in some not so relevant conversation, and at first, Brian didn’t realize what he meant. Only once he was alone and with lots of time to analyse his phrase, he could understand that he had revealed some important information Roger _hadn’t_ told him about.

They used to debate their worries a lot. They were, in a way, each other’s therapists. It was even better than a normal professional, because they knew they could be absolutely sincere. It was one of the strongest pillars of their relationship. Now, they felt the obligation to pretend they weren’t suffering in order not to make the situation worse for each other. It was, actually, doing quite the opposite. That honesty that characterised their romance was vanishing.

Brian would never, not even in his craziest dreams, think about revealing the intrusive thoughts that went through his mind the moment the doctors told him that there was a great chance he would _never_ stop needing supplementary oxygen. His heart was no longer capable of doing the job, so he was now dependant on the nasal cannula and the concentrator. He remembered looking at the transparent tube with resentment.

There was a moment of plain white. Nothing inside his head, just white. Like a teacher’s uniform, like the sky on a cloudy day, like the hospital’s walls. Then, he felt a slight hint of angriness, which was soon followed by a profound sadness. He was dependant on that machine _for the rest of his life._ He wasn’t completely free anymore, he was tied. And there was nothing he could do about it, he just had to get used to it.

He couldn’t even keep himself alive without that noisy device, and that made him feel so fucking _useless_. He looked at the concentrator, and he was tempted to reach for it and turn it off.

He went back to his senses after a brief moment of blankness, and was horrified by his own mind. With everyone in the hospital trying to keep him alive, with his family and friends expecting him to recover, with all those people who enjoyed his music waiting for his return, he couldn’t think about doing something like that. It was out of place, it was intrusive, it wasn’t right. Escaping was selfish, and having such a selfish thought made him feel not only like an useless idiot, but as _coward_ too.

If he couldn’t live because he truly wanted to, he had to do it for those who loved him. He promised he would keep quiet and act like he never contemplated pressing the concentrator’s button. That had been a one time thing, nothing more.

And that day, when Roger came to see him, Brian smiled like he always did.

His smile wasn’t entirely sincere, but he did it with good intentions. He knew Roger’s day was brighter if he came to see he was alright and found him doing well. Brian could feel the medicine losing its effect in the middle of a visit, but he would try and stay calm in order not to see his favourite blue eyes filled with sadness. He was putting up with so much emotional pain, and with those thoughts getting stronger every day, but he wasn’t saying a word to anyone about it.

He had other things to focus on.

“Hey Bri, you there?”

The drummer looked at him with curiosity. He wondered what was going on inside Brian’s head for him to become absent of the present for almost ten minutes. Sudden headaches and momentary disconnections were common, so he knew he had to just wait until the guitarist went back to normal. This time, however, he was taking too long. Roger’s hands rested on his lap, while Freddie and Deaky waited for Brian’s response.

“Sorry.” He said, but his apology didn’t sound as he wanted it to. It had sounded way too mechanical and automatic, almost like he didn’t mean it.

“We were about to help you stand up.” Freddie informed him, and then Brian remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

He had to learn to get from the bed to the wheelchair and vice versa, and the doctor had finally authorized him to try. But first, he had to try to stand up. He was almost discharged, it was something he must learn before going back home. Brian looked at the needle that went into his left hand, and followed the line with his eyes. The daily morphine couldn’t and shouldn’t fail now, for Heaven’s sake. He wouldn’t like his friends to see tears rolling down his cheeks and giving away his pain.

“It’s everything alright?” Deaky asked, and Brian nodded slightly.

The nurse watched as they helped Brian to sit up, and place his feet on the floor. He was quite confident up to this point, but when he felt the coldness touch his skin, he started to doubt. He didn’t feel strong enough to do this, and he was afraid his muscles were too weak and couldn’t stand to make this effort. He regarded the oxygen tube, as Deaky untangled it and put it out of the way.

“Alright sweet- I mean, Brian.” Roger corrected himself and the nurse gave him a weird look. The drummer cleared his throat and looked at his lover. “We won’t let you fall.”

“You’re too tense.” Deaky said, touching Brian’s right arm. “Relax, you can do this.”

Queen counted to three, and after a moment of combined efforts, Brian stood up for the first time in more than two months. Freddie at his left, Deaky at his right, and Roger in front of him, surrounding the guitarist’s waist with his arms, and letting Brian rest his weigh on his little frame. The nurse felt moved by this image, it was clear how much the patient’s friends cared about him.

As Brian got used to this new and innovative position, an acute pain went up his spine, touching every vertebra on its way. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, the anaesthetics made it lighter and lighter, until the sensation disappeared. He sighed in relief, and his friends looked at him searching for any sign of discomfort.

Brian knew he was tall, but he didn’t expect to be _that_ tall. Maybe it was just that everyone in the room was short, but it amused him. He smiled a little, and rested one hand on Freddie’s shoulder. The touch of Roger’s hands around his waist was familiar, and it made him confident. 

“How do you feel?” The drummer asked, looking up and trying to read his boyfriend’s expression. Brian smiled, and chuckled.

“You are tiny.”

“Well, thanks!” Freddie said in his melodramatic offended tone, but didn’t let go of his friend. Brian chuckled again, and whispered an apology. “Mr Giant laughs at us again!”

“This must mean he’s okay.” John reasoned, and his words were traversed by his silly giggle. In his eyes there was the same shine that could be found in Freddie’s smile, and in Roger’s blue irises.

“I’m okay.” Brian confirmed. “I’m great.”

Queen was standing, together, hoping for a better future.

They ended up in one of those band hugs they always got tangled in when a gig ended, after every concert of their tours, and when they finished to record an album. The same hug they had shared after they signed their first contract, when _Killer Queen_ hit the charts, or after they gave their first interview for national television.

“We’re proud of you, poodle.” Freddie said, and Brian could tell he wanted to cry. His voice was a bit broken, and he had a pretty smile decorating his face.

“So very proud.” Deaky whispered, and he was in the same situation as the singer.

“We love you, you know that.” Roger spoke softly, and had to contain the desire to kiss Brian as the nurse was still there, supervising just in case something went wrong.

Brian hadn’t felt this renewed in a long time. He smiled widely.

“I love you too, gnomes.”

“How fucking dare you?” Freddie sounded absolutely indignant, and in another situation, he would’ve started a play fight.

Brian was going to get discharged in three days. It was quite intimidating and he knew he would have to face lots of new struggles, but he wasn’t scared. Roger caressed his back slightly, and he closed his eyes as he hugged him. His golden hair fell over his face in thin locks, but still let Brian appreciate his features.

Just by standing there, between the arms of his lover and his two friends, Brian knew he was in good company. 

_Useless coward._

The guitaristhoped not to disappoint them. 


	19. Chapter 19

“No, Mum, don’t worry. We’ll be alright.”

Roger would never find things whenever he was looking for them, and with his mother on the phone, he was having a hard time trying to remember where he had left his keys.

If he had lost his passport, he could turn his house upside down and still not be able to find it. If he forgot where he had left his favourite pair of drumsticks, he wouldn’t see them until he had gotten back home from a studio session where his mind wasn’t focused on music, but rather trying to remember if they were in the kitchen, for some odd reason, or in the Alfa Romeo’s backseat. He would look in every cupboard, under every piece of furniture, and check the drawers twenty two times and a half. He sometimes wondered if Brian did this just to laugh at him and blame the obnoxious gnome he insisted was real and also made his cigarettes disappear, or if he was just too easily distracted and his mind was constructed in such a way that would make it difficult to discern if his jacket had been forgotten at a party or was just lying around in the pile of clothes that he refused to fold and properly put into the closet.

The drummer discarded the first option now that Brian wasn’t home and he was still losing things. This wasn’t a joke, it was just him being forgetful. And what made him mad was that the things he lost would always appear in the most obvious places, like if those objects were actually alive and enjoyed to make fun of Roger whenever they could by hiding somewhere and, after having a good laugh watching the drummer search, go back to their respective places. Even that made more sense than losing his keys when two seconds ago they were on his hand. Usually, his first impulse would be to go to the garage and say hello to his dear silver son only to open the door and see the object he was looking for resting on the backseat. Now that his Alfetta wasn’t there anymore, the garage had been locked for at least three weeks. There was no reason for Roger to go there.

He was looking under the bed, but his keys weren’t there either. His mother’s voice sounded from the other side of the line again.

“If you need help with anything, no matter what it is, I haven’t got a problem with going there to help you.” She said, in her beautiful voice. Roger could hear his father adding a _‘You can count on me too!’_ that sounded distant, followed by a _‘This thing doesn’t want to work, heaven’s sake!’_ that was probably not intended to be heard. He was away from the phone, insisting he could fix the television, while Winnie sat down and smiled watching her husband try to get the signal back.

This made the drummer laugh gently, as he looked up and his eyes landed on the portrait on Brian’s bedside table. For a moment, his mind slipped out of his current task and the conversation he was having, and went back to his car.

He thought about the day he walked out of the concessionary, proudly holding those keys, and the moment he touched the steering wheel knowing that the Alfetta was the product of hours upon hours of recording sessions, stressful gigs, and frustrating attempts to fit some syllables into a melody he had come up with or the other way around, unsuccessful tries to find chords that could accompany some lyrics he had written while he was feeling specially philosophical. That feeling of satisfaction was better than any drug that could ever be invented by some bored people trying to get a rush of adrenaline without much effort. Knowing that he had sacrificed his time and made everything in his power to finally be able to touch those leather seats was simply indescribable, and completely deserved. And he cared about that machine, he cared about it so much because it was the material evidence that proved his career was going _somewhere_. It proved that he had a future as a musician and composer. Many had said to him that he wouldn’t get anywhere with music, and would end up being just another sad old man with dreams that were never reached, and the silver Alfetta proved all those people wrong.

Just a few days after buying it, Brian wanted to go to Canterbury. They just packed a couple things, jumped in the car and went without a second thought, and it was one of the shortest but most memorable trips they made together. Brian sounded like a historian telling his boyfriend about the story of every monument they saw. They visited the cathedral, very beautiful of course, and took many photographs as they always did. Brian almost fell asleep on the way back, the sun resting on the horizon and slowly hiding, as he read _Canterbury Tales_ while he chatted with Roger about how the sky during the sunset looked like an expressionist painting.

One of the photos from that trip was framed, and Brian kept it on his bedside table. That was the photo Roger was staring at now.

They asked a blond lad who was passing by to take it, and it depicted the two men and the shiny Alfetta behind them, on one of the streets of the ancient town. Canterbury’s architecture in the background, Brian stood there with Roger at his right, united in a friendly side hug that made them look like just a pair of friends that were owners of their time and had embarked in a brotherly adventure to discover a new city they hadn’t visited before. Smiling for the camera, but mostly because they truly felt like smiling, the breeze made their hairs shift slightly to the left. They looked young, relaxed, and happy.

It was sad to think that the piece of metal that Roger worried to keep clean so much, that engine that he cared to maintain in good condition and those shiny crystals were now a piece of the past, an abstraction, something that only existed in his own memory and the memories of all the people that commented on how the car was an outstanding example of how to take good care of a vehicle, and made Roger smile and blush. His Alfetta, the one that witnessed many trips like that one to Canterbury and heard Brian humming to many songs that sounded on the radio, was just a piece of twisted rubbish now. Its engine was never going to roam again, and Roger could still recall to perfection how the windscreen sounded when it exploded in a million tiny pieces. The car was now probably sitting in a junkyard full of other destroyed and abandoned vehicles, waiting to be crushed and reduced to a bunch of little metal bits that could be recycled and used to make something else. It was way too damaged to be scrapped and use its parts for some other cars.

The Alfa Romeo’s keys were still hanging by the door. He just couldn’t get rid of them.

“Mum, Dad, I’m an adult.” He reminded them. They were obviously conscious about it, but still treated him with so much love he felt like he was a kid every time they talked on the phone or had a family reunion. He heard Winifred sigh.

“We know, we know, but this may be a little too much to handle alone.” 

Roger stood up, and frowning slightly, wondered where the hell he hadn’t looked yet. He was running out of time, he had to go to the hospital. It was the morning of the 11th of September, and his excitement for Brian coming back home was to blame for losing his keys.

The only place he hadn’t revised yet was _Brian’s obsession corner_ , and usually it wasn’t a likely place to find what he was looking for. However, he had recently opened it to use all those cleaning products with pretty aromas to leave the house in pristine condition. Deaky helped a lot, and Freddie was as perfectionist as Brian when it came to cleaning windows, and their combined work resulted in the tidiest house in the country. The wooden floor of the sitting room reflected the furniture like a mirror, and Freddie made sure to squish the sofa’s cushions three times to _‘make them more comfortable’._

 “I won’t be alone.” Roger replied, and it felt so _good_ to say that. He wouldn’t be alone, because Brian was coming back. 

And so he crossed the hallway, and at the very end, the wooden cupboard rested. Closed, and just as polished as the floor. With nothing to lose, the drummer opened it and looked inside. He hadn’t even realised how many old rags were there before this careful inspection. They were many. The broom, the hoover, nothing much to see. Just before he closed the door again and went to check the kitchen’s table for the fifth time, he looked under the plastic bottle that contained that shiny blue liquid to clean crystals.

A carefully folded paper seemed to be hidden underneath. It appeared to be affected by humidity, so it had been there for a while. Just before he touched it, Winnie’s voice interrupted.

“You’re brave, our boy.” She said, lovingly. Roger smiled, dismissed the paper, and closed the cupboard. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Bye Mum. Tell Dad to call an electrician. I love you.”

Only moments after ending the call, Roger touched his pocket and realized that his keys had been there all along.

-

The last days in hospital, for Brian, had been long and painfully slow-passing. It seemed that each one lasted seventy-two hours instead of twenty-four, and it was evident that the guitarist’s impatience was making it even more difficult. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, be free to go home again, check if his house’s sitting room walls were painted in royal blue or dark purple, and see if they did have a bookshelf with lots of books, as Roger claimed. Brian hoped he would never need to enter a hospital again, but that wasn’t going to happen. He would need to go back to get things checked once in a while, but as long as he didn’t become trapped between four white walls again, he was okay with it.

He was nervous too. He couldn’t sleep when the lights went off the night of the 10th of September, but he was so excited that it didn’t show. It looked like he had slept for two days straight and drank a couple cups of coffee as soon as he woke up. He had accidentally made more than one nurse blush with the light-hearted smiles he offered to them when they came in to give him his usual medications. He had said goodbye to his teacher, who had brought flowers from her garden as a little gift for her now former student. She was in tears when she left, but they were happy tears. The bouquet of lilies now rested on the table, and it was decorated by a handwritten card that read the date and _‘To my best student, Brian. Your teacher, Mary.’_ attached to the pretty red ribbon that held the flowers together.

He would have liked to get dressed on his own, but it was too difficult still. His body wasn’t working well enough yet, and even though he didn’t like to be helped to do such simple tasks, he had to be assisted by a nurse. The clothes he put on had been brought the day before by Ruth, who had bought them especially for the occasion. Light blue always suited him well, and it was refreshing to see him wearing something so different to a hospital gown.

Brian couldn’t contain his desire to smile, and Alexandra could see in his eye how much he had been waiting for this day.

“Are you happy?” She asked rhetorically, imitating his smile, pleased by the sight of her patient’s obvious excitement.

“Delighted.” Brian replied, almost correcting her.

She chuckled. Hearing him using new words was a clear sign of improvement. After finishing buttoning up her patients shirt, she stood up and looked at him once more. Light blue _definitely_ suited him well. Alexandra wondered if Roger would compliment his looks once he got there. She had been questioning what type of relationship the two had ever since she opened the door one day and found Roger tenderly caressing Brian’s hair, and smiling in a silly fashion. She didn’t ask and pretended she hadn’t seen anything, but she could almost confirm they were way more than friends.

In a way, she hoped she was right. Roger’s visits and his careful hugs were probably the best part of Brian’s day, and Alexandra could tell. She wished for that feeling to fill her patient’s days and help him thorough recovery. She was also aware of Brian’s difficult relationship with his father, and even though Roger’s attention would never fill that emptiness in Brian’s heart, he certainly eased the pain.

“They’ll be here soon.” She announced, looking at the clock. “Remember to take your medications. And to come here twice a week, we’ll check how recovery’s going.”

The guitarist thanked her for her time and care, and promised to be responsible. Alexandra shook his hand gently and smiled, took her notepad, and walked to the door, holding a pen in the other hand. Before stepping out of the room, she turned her head towards him once again, suddenly remembering something she needed to say.

“Oh, and Brian?”

“Yes?”

“You should marry Roger, you know.”

Brian’s smile was soon replaced by an expression of surprise, and a subtle blush. He looked away. Alexandra chuckled, opened the door, and gave her patient a final look before disappearing into the hallway.

The guitarist didn’t have to wait too much until the scandalous Freddie appeared wearing a pink suit, and trying to fit five balloons filled with helium through the room’s door, which was rather narrow. Deaky apologised to the doctors for his friend’s spontaneous manifest, almost like a parent, shushing Freddie and reminding him to be calm. Roger followed them closely, his rainbow suspenders had been put on for the occasion. The band’s enthusiasm was contagious, and they had to contain their emotion and try to speak quietly, but didn’t succeed much in doing so. The moment Freddie stopped struggling with the balloons and saw Brian, he yelled.

“Happy going-home-day to our-“

“Shh!” Deaky interrupted, forcing Freddie to bring his voice down.

“-favourite poodle.” He finished, now almost whispering, maintaining his grin and moving the balloons around.

“Quite noisy.” Said Brian, trying not to laugh, letting his friends see his pearly white teeth forming a smile.

“We’re aware.” Roger nudged Freddie, and looked at his boyfriend. “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

“I’ve been ready for ages.”

Roger pushed the wheelchair, as Freddie gave balloons to the people he saw in the waiting room, and Deaky apologised.

Luckily for them, they had managed to keep Brian’s discharge date a secret. They had no problems exiting the hospital and getting into John’s car. While Roger was still nervous every time he had to get into a vehicle, Brian was relaxed. He didn’t remember the moment of the accident, so he had no traumatising memories to make him afraid. Still, more for the sake of Roger’s mental health than for his own, he held his boyfriend’s hand tightly until they arrived.

Brian was finally going home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been very absent. 
> 
> I'm going to study abroad in less than a month. I'm going to England. I'm from Argentina, so I'm going to be VERY far from home. I'm also studying for my final exams in English Language, I'm sitting for First Certificate in English in a few months. I'm nervous, excited, happy, I don't even know anymore! Everything's great now. So much better than before. I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere, doing something with my life. 
> 
> I'll make sure to go to the theatre and watch We Will Rock You. I'll leave some flowers for Freddie, too. 
> 
> If you find any grammar mistakes, I would be glad if you could tell me. I'm trying to get a good mark in my FCE exam!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and sorry for interrumpting your reading session with this note! Much love to you all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. If you can take a minute to leave a comment, I'll love to read it!


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